


A Part for the Public, and Another for You

by Herewithstupid



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Romance, Slavery, Smut, War, graphic descriptions of drowning, non-con fantasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herewithstupid/pseuds/Herewithstupid
Summary: John Laurens had left England with the intention of carving out his own life for himself- and if that meant dying for what was right, rather than wasting away in a marriage with someone he didn't love, that was his decision to make.Then Alexander Hamilton had came into his life, overwhelming and overpowering, lighting a spark in his heart and fanning it further into a flame. The man had warned them from the start that that was his intention... Laurens just hadn't expected how willing he would be to burn for it.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 29
Kudos: 50





	1. My Shot

“Have you applied yet to Kings College?”

“Of course. I probably won’t receive word back though until Spring.”

It wasn’t completely a lie, of course. Laurens _did_ plan on applying to the college again… at some point.

His father made a humming noise from across the table, not even looking up at him as he cut into the pork loin they had been served. The place that Henry Laurens had chosen to stay in his visit to New York was certainly higher-scale, and their meals reflected that. “Good. I know you finished some semesters at Middle Temple before you felt the need to come over.”

There was a note of disappointment in the words, the smallest of barbed jabs, that was impossible for him to miss. “If I’m going to practice law, I will want to do it here in the States,” Laurens said for what felt like the hundredth time, spearing a piece of asparagus with probably more viciousness than was warranted. “I might as well learn where I plan on practicing.”

There was a sharp glance across the table, Henry Laurens managing to chastise the action without needing to say a word. “Just don’t forget to foster your connections and friendships made when you were still in Geneva and London,” The man sighed after a moment, giving a shake of his head. “I know you are invested in this idea of… _independence_ that has been spreading. But it is far more likely we will reconcile our differences. No one wants to go to war.”

A silence settled between them as they ate. Laurens had spent enough time trying to explain to his father why they needed this revolution, and quite frankly at this point, the man would have to realize it on his own. Instead he cleared his throat. “How is the family?”

“Good,” His father accepted the olive branch, seeming relieved to change the subject. “They are well. Harry and Jemmy are both doing well in their studies- and your sister Patsy has been learning how to play the harp.”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, able to imagine his siblings perfectly. Jemmy, who looked so much like he had when he was eight, Harry with his big dimples and too-big ears, and Patsy with her clever eyes and sharp tongue. “And? How does she sound?”

“She is only allowed to practice in the house, else she may scare off any decent suitors before she can show her real skills.”

Laurens had a laugh at that, his father even cracking a rare smile, and passed most of the dinner discussing the family affairs. Laurens knew he should probably take a trip back down to Charleston soon and visit now that he was back in the colonies. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t miss his family… it was just- after the whirlwind few months before he had left London, he had just needed some time to himself. No obligation to a school, or to family, to romance…

There was the sound of a chair scraping at the wood floor, pulling Laurens out of his thoughts as his father stood up. “It’s about time I head out, there’s only so much daylight to travel by, and I have a long journey,” the man said as he straightened his coat. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“You have some letters, by the way.”

Laurens raised an eyebrow, curious, as his father drew out a small bundle of letters bound by a ribbon. He took them without comment, flipping through a few of the names and trying to ignore the way the man watched him. “Thanks for delivering them.”

“Of course,” Henry said smoothly, though there was a note of disapproval in his voice. “Your wife especially seems to write for you. I hope you have not been neglecting her?”

Laurens stiffened in his seat at the unspoken accusation. “I’ve been writing to her, father,” He said tersely, standing as well and shoving the letters into a pocket to read at a later time. 

Henry Laurens simply gave him a stern once-over- one that he was far too familiar with. The one he had been receiving since around hitting puberty, and more often as time passed and he continued to show no interest in women. “See that you do,” Was finally all that was said, giving a nod before turning away and leaving to gather his bags from his room.

It wasn’t until Laurens was walking down the streets that he finally re-pulled the letters out of his pocket, eying the names and dates. 

_Jemmy, Martha, Jemmy, Harry, Martha, Thomas, Martha, Richard, Martha..._

Shame had burned low in his belly as he had read through them, not even bothering to lock his front door when he got home and sitting heavily in the closest seat. Martha wrote three, sometimes four letters for every one that he sent her. Telling him of the pregnancy, about life in London, about her siblings and their own affairs. 

Mentally he calculated the months that had passed since he had left England, the time it would take for letters to cross the Atlantic- and realized that likely, Martha had already given birth. That somewhere out there, there was a screaming baby that made him a father.

It had been a few hours before Lafayette and Hercules had found him, grappling with the guilt that had come with the realization. So they had done what friends do for each other. 

Drown him and distract him.

Laurens met _him_ on his third drink in, the three of them exchanging verses and taking turns beatboxing in a fun game of wit and wordplay. Hell, at one point, loosened up and relaxed by the free-flowing beer, he invited Burr to try. Unsurprisingly, the man had given a polite smile and an even more polite response, deftly dodging giving an opinion. 

Maybe he was just emboldened by the drink- or maybe he was feeling just a bit more confrontational than he usually was. Either way Laurens found himself challenging Burr a bit, both in teasing and warning that the man didn’t have much longer on the sidelines, before-

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”

He liked to think he covered it up well enough, laughing and glancing away from the newcomer at Lafayette and Hercules, and opening his arms as though to gesture that the man was welcome to distinguish himself. After all- the stranger had come in with Burr. Not that the Princeton graduate was an enemy. 

To be an enemy, quite frankly, he’d have to have enough backbone to speak up for what he believed in.

But… not only did the man answer- he was spitting their rhymes back at them. Quicker, better, having taken their little game with no more instruction than what he had overheard while drinking with Burr, and doubling down like he had invented it himself. Laurens found himself… impressed. More than impressed, really, though he tried not to show it. The newcomer wasn’t looking at him, hand moving through the air as he gestured and seemed to keep a perfect beat in his own mind, as though trying to fit as much wordplay as he could into the lines before he had to breathe. 

Laurens other hand had come up, holding the bottom of his pint and thumb swiping over the condensation as he listened to Alexander. So caught up in his own words, Lafayette and Hercules distracted, he felt safe giving the man another once-over. The dark hair tied back in the ponytail, the hungry eyes and small frame that almost seemed to vibrate with an energy that could barely be contained...

He averted his eyes, shaking his head with a slight smile and glancing over at Hercules. The apprentice seemed just as entertained as he was, and Laurens was almost relieved to see he wasn’t the only one whose gaze couldn’t help but be drawn back to the immigrant. He was still going- Laurens wasn’t sure if the man had even stopped to breathe yet, and maybe that was why he felt so out of breath himself. Like this Alexander stole the air right out of his lungs so he could keep going.

 _I can’t say that I would protest_ , he admitted to himself, not a hundred percent sure if the flush in his cheeks was from the alcohol in his system anymore. And, hell, it may have been from the words themselves. Demanding, and _eager_. 

Lafayette, probably the hardest to impress of them all, hadn’t been able to stop the whistle of appreciation when Alexander had finished with a _clank_ of his mug on the table. Burr eventually fucked off after reminding them to keep it down, going off to read in the corner with his pint, and Alexander didn’t seem particularly bothered. Nor did anyone else.

“This isn’t a revolution that can _wait_ ,” Alexander said heatedly, jabbing at the table as though it had personally offended him. Laurens, sitting next to him, could almost feel the electricity in the space between them, charged and excited. It was contagious. “You think King George will ever set us free? Representatives don’t mean shit for us when they don’t hold any power- elected boot-lickers at best.”

“It is here as it is in France,” Lafayette agreed, accent thick and raising his own glass as though in a momentary toast of agreement. “I fear this unrest will lead to oncarchy- onarchy? Eh, how you say…?” Seeming to catch the word wasn’t right, the Frenchman glancing at Hercules before seeming to recall it himself with a snap of his fingers. “Oh, _anarchy_. The people fighting in the streets for what is believed is right.” 

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it?” Alexander demanded. “Our rights, and what _is_ right? Best we have is the Continental Congress’s Declaration- a bare minimum, and we still have cowards with no spine, willing to roll over belly-up like dogs.”

Laurens scoffed at that, Alexander glancing his way at the noise as though ready to debate him right there and then. 

And _let_ him. The man may have caught him off guard with a handsome face- but that didn’t change his beliefs. “Why would you expect them to recognize freedom and rights, when we deny that every day to slaves?”

How many times had he had this debate? Especially in the south, amongst his fathers colleagues and friends? How often had he been silenced with a cold glance by his father, who supposedly ‘abhored’ slavery yet believed it was the most merciful option for ‘wretched’ creatures, as he liked to call them? 

He was sick of it. He knew what was right, and that any declaration of those ‘rights’ was at best a hypocrisy and at worst a mockery when there were still those who lived their lives in bondage. 

So wrapped up in the readiness to fight, he missed the nod from the man next to him, the agreement. He didn’t even look at Alexander, gesturing with the pint in his hand passionately. “When this war gets goin’, they’ll see what real patriots look like. Soon as I get a command, I’m gonna put together the first _black battalion,_ and they’ll fight for their freedom right alongside us!”

“That’s right,” Alexanders words and the clap on his shoulder caught him off guard- the gleam of what he thought was an oncoming argument actually a glimmer of... approval?

If Hamilton noticed his shock, he didn’t show it, already onto his next point ranting to Lafayette and Hercules. Laurens only half-heard the buzz of the words- suddenly all too aware of the hand still on his shoulder, heavy and almost burning even through the coat he had on. It only lingered for a minute, and when it moved away, it felt like Laurens snapped back into awareness from where he had been staring at him. 

“Keep drinkin’, order another round for me, just going to get a breath of fresh air,” he waved off the curious glances as he quickly stood. For a brief moment, Lafayette's eyes flickered between Alexander and him as though in understanding, but Laurens was turning away before he could convince himself it was anything more than a trick of the light. 

Outside it felt like he could breathe again, taking in a deep draw of the warm air as he swayed on his feet. The space inside had felt too small, too hot, too close- it made his head spin.

Letting his back hit the side of the building, he let out a disgruntled sigh and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. He knew part of it was simply a lack of companionship… he had met two people since he had arrived that he felt _safe_ to bring back in the dark of night. And even then it had… left something to be desired. 

He couldn’t have been outside for long, leaning against the side of the building, before there was another presence at his side.

“Didn’t take you as a lightweight, Laurens.”

“Don’t challenge me to a drinking contest unless you got the funds to back up your challenge, Mr. Hamilton,” Laurens shot back.

There was a laugh, and the figure bumped into his side briefly before leaning against the building next to him. Closer than they were inside. “Fine, call my bluff- but Mr. Hamilton? Really?”

He found himself smiling a bit against his will, opening an eye and glancing at the man next to him as he teased. “Oh? Is there something you’d rather I call you?”

 _Too much, Laurens- rein it in,_ he reprimanded himself sharply.

Instead of confusion, or a polite yet stern dismissal, the man looked pleased at the banter. “I can think of a number of things,” He replied back slyly. “But what a man is called only matters as much as the lips that title falls from. From you?” He clucked his tongue. “Even just my name might be satisfactory.”

Was… was he? 

Laurens swallowed- and this time, he couldn’t blame the stuffy air of the bar for the heated way his skin warmed. “You strike me as a man who’s never been satisfied.”

He had known that the man was closer than he had been, inside. But now their shoulders were a centimeter, maybe less, from brushing. Could people passing by see the tension contained in that centimeter of space? Alexander seemed to, without even looking at it, not breaking eye contact with him. It had been one thing to be witness to that sudden brash, bold gaze inside when he had introduced himself. Laurens had still been able to look away, or glance at it from the side as though avoiding staring directly into the sun. 

“You’re right,” Alexander agreed, voice lower than it had been. “But are you going to tell me you don’t feel the same, Laurens?”

Now wasn’t _that_ a loaded question, if there ever was one. 

Alexander seemed to take his silence as enough of an answer, breaking the tension and closing the gap with a hand on his shoulder again. “So tell me more about this black battalion you have planned,” The man said, mercifully allowing the change in subject and grinning with a more light-hearted ease.

“Well it only makes sense, doesn’t it?” Laurens pointed out, grateful for the change of subject and finding himself smiling as well as he looked back out on the street. “We’re fighting for freedom, aren’t we? The freedom to decide our own lives, our own prosperity, to govern ourselves- to let a mans actions and worth decide where he ends up in life, rather than to be born into it.”

“And those that argue that slavery is the natural order of things?” Alexander pressed- not with a note of real challenge, but of curiosity. “Or that it’s ‘merciful’ to rule over someone who is incapable of long-term planning and care?”

Laurens scoffed at that. “Is that any different than the argument that the King and his pet loyalists have about us?” He argued. “That the colonies don’t know what’s good for them? Or that to be ruled by the crown is the order of God and man? Those are the excuses of lazy men that can’t be bothered to think. And those who _can_ think are too afraid to speak up.”

He gestured out at the city, feeling that same excitement and yearning in his chest that he had first felt when he had boarded the ship to New York. Travelled back home just so that he could join in this upcoming storm that could be felt even an ocean away. “You can only tell people that their chains are jewelry for so long, don’t you see? Now is the time that we _need_ to argue for the end of slavery. Men and women are looking around and realizing that we’re _all_ held in bonds of some kind, and our strength comes in helping each other rise up off our knees and _fight!”_

That trembling desire was thrumming in his heart. He wished there was a fight right there, right then, _something_ that he could do, something he could direct that anxious itch under his skin at. 

Laurens was sick of debating with his father, about _talking,_ of this tense air that lay over the city like a storm about to break. Because it didn’t matter if not everyone agreed with him yet- that had never stopped him before.

And when he looked back at Alexander, there was a glimmer in his eyes that Laurens couldn’t read. Agreement? Appreciation? Understanding?

But it felt like he had passed some sort of test, won some sort of respect, when Alexander moved his hand to instead sling an arm more thoroughly around him (it was a bit of a stretch, Laurens had a few inches of height on him). “Laurens, I like you a lot,” The man teased, continuing before he could read into the words anymore than he already had. “Maybe if it takes too long, we can go off and start this revolution ourselves and let the others catch up. After tonight though,” He added, waggling his eyebrows. “Burr promised to buy me a drink- and I want to see how many I can get off him free before he cuts me off. America can wait one more night for us.”

There was a fond warmness at the words, a slight easing to the anxiety, to hear another person so eager to do _something._ “Alright,” He agreed, slinging his arm around Alexander in turn, and lightly chuffing his other fist against the mans chest. “I’m holdin’ ya to that. You and I, do or die.”

They made their way back inside, Alexander eventually removing his arm from Laurens shoulder, and this time the banter was easier for him to join in on. He wasn’t quite sure what it was… this agreement, both spoken and implied, between them? Or perhaps the way their eyes would lock occasionally in understanding? The way that Alexander, though seemingly friendly in his touch with _everyone_ , seemed to find excuses especially to reach for him?

Perhaps anyone else would have just called it wishful thinking. But Laurens left that night with a hopeful spark in his chest, and the memory of a man that threatened to fan it into something brighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's started!
> 
> As anyone who's written knows, the first chapter always feels the hardest. I feel satisfied enough though to post this, and the fact I've hit 25,000 words written for it (and still feel the itch to continue, with notes for each chapter planned) means I feel confident that this won't be a planned long-fic that dies after two chapters. 
> 
> The normal disclaimers. Hamilton the play is HARDLY accurate to the actual life of Alexander Hamilton- hell, Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote a fanfiction imo of the founding fathers in terms of accuracy. Do I still love it? Absolutely-fucking-lutely I do. While I'll be trying to take some historical truths and incorporating them- this writing will be pretty much as inaccurate to the truth of history as the play is, if not more so. I'll try to include notes as I go, to the best of my own knowledge.
> 
> The biggest one? Laurens did not actually meet Alexander until well into the war (1777 I believe is when he officially travelled overseas to join the war, Alexander was already an aide-de-camp to George Washington when he arrived). He DID have a wife however that he left behind- Martha Manning, who was pregnant. Laurens never met his child. Lafayette also didn't arrive in America this early, and Hercules would have already known Alexander as /he was the one that housed Hamilton/. 
> 
> Please keep in mind, while this story will not have COMPLETELY accurate portrayals of historical feelings on race/sex (as I fully intend to keep the characters visually-set as their play counterparts), there ARE still racist and sexist views that will be mentioned/addressed. I will tweak what I feel comfortable with to keep the characters POC without erasing the fact that slavery and racism was alive and well during this time. Homophobia, internalized and externalized, will also be addressed multiple times through the writing. 
> 
> I've tagged what comes to mind at this time- but please, if there is something else that you believe should be tagged, please let me know. I don't want anyone to read content that would make them uncomfortable. 
> 
> All comments are welcome! And please feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr at herewithstupid, or just comment here and I'll happily message back. Thank you kindly for reading.


	2. Story of Tonight

Laurens may have been the first to warm up to Alexander- but Lafayette and Hercules were not far behind him. One night of drinking turned into two, then three, and soon it seemed like the fiery immigrant had _always_ been one of them.

He could tell it took Alexander a while to feel the same. 

“-the fucking nerve, you would have thought they had asked that the governor be made to fuck his own horse rather than resign.”

“Mmhmm,” Hercules hummed distractedly, one arm draped over the back of his seat and sitting sprawled and relaxed. Laurens crossed his legs, tilting his head and watching the chessboard with the same intensity. 

“To ask a king to do a thing is unthinkable,” Lafayette dismissed, on Lauren’s left side. “It is, ah… not of the order of things, they would claim.”

“Exactly. He thinks he’s too good to have to listen to us,” Alexander scoffed.

Hercules finally reached out to slide the bishop- well, that put a stop to Lauren’s plans he had had for his knight. His lips twitched downward in a frown, drumming his fingers against his knee, admittedly only half listening to the conversation. 

“They argue ‘Oh, if you want things done, you have to go through the _proper_ channels. Act _civilized.”_

“Are you not the one who was telling us last night how independence cannot be earned through…” Lafayette snapped his fingers a few times before seeming to draw the memory of the word. “Overthrowing, and rejection of society?”

Laurens unfolded his leg, then moved his rook, keeping his expression carefully schooled.

Hercules was difficult to play chess with. Not because the man wasn’t good- really, it was the opposite. Laurens could immediately feel the dark eyes on him, calculating, looking for any cracks that would give away what his plan was. The first time he had played with the man, he had made the mistake of joking and talking, lured into easy conversation. Hercules had that effect, made it easy to let your guard down.

This wasn’t his first time around the block though, and he cocked a challenging eyebrow at the man as he took another sip of beer. 

“It’s not society and law that is the issue,” Hamilton exclaimed in frustration, waving a hand in the air now. “That’s what separates us from animals-”

A knight hopped to the side. 

“-we’ll never be rid of hierarchy that comes with any group of people living close to each other, but it has reached a point that they have tried to elevate themselves past the humanity of mankind-”

A pawn blocked. 

“-rather than using their positions to enact meaningful change, to _improve_ on the conditions of the world, they only care about improving the conditions of _their_ -”

Knight takes rook.

“-men that act like the King don’t deserve to even have a _say_ in the affairs of society! If you aren’t willing to talk, or debate, or conversate, what is the point? It’s not society that is the thing that needs to be cut down, but _men that believe they are outside of it.”_

Laurens finally looked up from the chessboard as a fist slammed down on the table, rattling the pieces slightly. Hamilton was red in the face (had he breathed at all through his speech?), having apparently gotten himself worked up. But after a moment, the man seemed to realize he had garnered the concerned glances of other patrons, and remembered where he was. 

The fist unclenched, pulling back, and instead the hands folded themselves firmly in the man's lap. “Sorry- I, sorry,” Hamilton huffed in probably the first apology that Laurens had heard him ever say, looking appropriately chagrined. “I haven’t really had anyone else to talk to about this ‘sides Burr, and I just- get a bit excited, I guess.”

“A _bit_ excited?” Lafayette teased, looking more entertained than anything, and laughing as Alexander looked even more abashed than he already had. “Compared to what, mon ami?”

Alexander shifted a bit in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Compared to how everyone thinks I should be, I guess,” He admitted quietly, crossing his arms across his chest protectively, before adding irritably, “Been called a loud pain-in-the-ass enough times, or told I should learn to hold my tongue instead of shooting off at the mouth, to know not everyone gives a damn.”

There was a prickly defensiveness in the posture, and Laurens found his attention getting drawn to studying Alexander instead of the chess pieces. 

Before the walls around Alexander could be rebuilt however, Hercules was giving a solid slap to the mans back, not looking up from the board. “Man, fuck whoever told you that shit,” He snorted, moving his queen with his other hand. “We need more people who speak their mind around here.”

Lafayette was nodding as well, cocking his head and grinning at the taken-aback look on Alexander’s face. “Why so surprised? Did you think we invite you to share drinks with us out of pity?”

“No,” Alexander lied. Too quickly, clipped- Laurens had picked up pretty quickly the mans ‘tells’. It was especially handy when they all played cards. 

Laurens moved his bishop out of the way as Lafayette laughed at the answer. “Be assured,” The frenchman said, waving a hand dismissively. “You are right, you are loud- too loud to be ignored! Since you cannot be ignored, that means we keep your ‘loud-mouth’ around because we enjoy it.”

Alexander’s face flickered through a myriad of subtle emotions. Confusion, doubt, disbelief, reassurance, before finally seeming to settle on a suspicious nod. The look of a young man that seemed to want to believe the words, but kept them a protective distance until he was sure it could be trust-

“Checkmate.”

Laurens looked back at the board now. He had gotten distracted watching Alexander, and Hercules must have noticed with how quickly he had used it to his advantage. “Son of a bitch,” He swore, leaning back in the seat.

“It is our turn now,” Lafayette said cheerfully, turning the board ninety degrees and starting to reset the pieces. “You are playing Alexander, oui?”

Alexander seemed to be relaxing a bit, nodding and starting to help arrange his side of the chessboard. Hercules was still watching Laurens with a curious expression however, even as a lighter conversation returned to the table. As though the game hadn’t actually ended. In turn, Laurens kept his expression cool, making a point to look anywhere other than Alexander’s hands. No matter how deftly or easily the fingers moved the pieces.

* * *

As the days passed however, Laurens found he kept thinking back to what Alexander said in that pub… and it gave him an idea.

“C’mon, Alexander, you gotta get up there next,” Laurens encouraged, an arm draped lazily around the man's shoulder. The group of them were standing off to the side, listening to some man rant to the small crowd that had formed around him on his soapbox. Some other revolutionary that Alexander had introduced them to- apparently he had joined a small militia with a few other students from King’s College, the Corsicans. “He may be on our side, but you can talk circles around him.”

Alexander glanced over at Laurens, caught off guard and seemingly chuffed, but smiling as though he had told a good joke. “What, I haven’t made you three sick of hearing me talk yet?” 

“He’s right, mon ami,” Lafayette agreed. “We need someone with a real argument up there- make us look good.”

Alexander looked away, expression doubtful, as though unsure if their words were honest. But Laurens could see the speaker (Robert, he think Alex said his name was?) was stepping off the box, winded from his ranting, and knew the crowd would begin to dissipate if nothing else grabbed their attention soon. “Go on, now’s your shot,” Laurens urged, using the arm around Alexander to lightly push him forward.

Unsurprisingly, the immigrant didn’t seem to need much encouragement, and Laurens could almost see the man vibrating with the speech he was ready to give as he stepped away. Immediately though he turned back, meeting their eyes and blurting out-

“I never had a group of friends before.”

There was a beat of pause, and Laurens could tell those _weren’t_ the words the man intended to say. But the embarrassed expression at the confession was quickly replaced with a glint of determination, tacking on, “I promise that I’ll make ya’ll proud,” and hurrying away to catch the crowd's attention. 

Soon Alexander was up on the box (the poor man needed it with his height), calling people’s attention and immediately launching into whatever thoughts had been burning a hole in his skull for the last hour.

Hercules chuckled, “Think that’s true? Or that he just never stopped talking long enough for anyone to tell him otherwise?”

They laughed, but Laurens felt a twinge of something in his chest as they listened to Hamilton (for some reason, he was _Hamilton_ when he stood up there). There was a part of him that believed the words… acquaintances, maybe, but friends? No. There was a hunger in the eyes, a skittish, tense way that the young man carried himself when he was around them. Like he expected at any moment for the other shoe to drop, for the three of them to disappear and leave him alone again.

It reminded Laurens of a stray tomcat that he had befriended when he was a child. It had been a thin, black thing with white splotches, bald spots of fur lost in fights and half an ear missing. It had never turned down the free food that Laurens had used to leave out for it- but it always ate with one eye on him. As though expecting the kindness to be snatched back in a second. 

“-besides, with the Brits carrying on in a war against us, their commerce would be in a state of decay, their revenues would be decreasing. The numbers of troops needed to be sufficient to enslave America, would damn near bankrupt-”

And Hamilton, up there on his soap box speaking in run-on sentences as though even his mind couldn’t pick a place to pause and breathe, looked exactly like that tomcat. Hungry, eyes flickering over the crowd in challenge, poorly mended patches in his coat, almost daring someone to be brave enough to try to talk back. One time, the eyes met his, and Laurens felt that hunger directed at him-

* * *

“-coming in or not?”

“Christ, give me a minute, alright?” Laurens called back, reaching up so that he could hook part of his shirt securely over the branch, next to his waistcoat, hat and coat. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to his mom why his clothes were covered in mud.

There was an exasperated sigh and splash from the direction of the river. “If you take any longer- winter’ll be around and I’ll die in here of hypothermia.” 

Laurens hesitated- but, it was just him and Christopher, right? He’d rather not have his pants soaking wet, and besides, it wasn’t like there were girls around. So before he could overthink it, he shucked off the britches as well and hung them up.

Christopher was floating on his back in the river when he finally rounded the corner- and the loud ‘whoop’ was the only warning the boy received before Laurens cannonballed into the river. Immediately sound felt muted, and Laurens quickly broke the surface again with a loud gasp, only to laugh at the affronted look on the other boy’s face. “You _wanted_ me to hurry up, didn’t you?”

The other still looked slightly irritated at the unexpected facefull of water he had received- but it seemed half-hearted at best. “Yeah, I said come _in_ the water, not try to drown me,” He retorted, splashing at Laurens. 

“Oh I wasn’t going to land on you, you baby.”

“Better watch your mouth, Laurens.”

“Or what?”

The splashing had gotten more intense between them, Christopher seeming unable to help the smile on his face, and a wicked grin was the only warning Laurens got before a pressure hooked behind his ankles and pulled. He yelped as he lost his footing and went underwater again- before grabbing for Christopher’s arm and yanking the boy down with them. 

The forest river was warm from the summer sun, and they were far out enough that they knew they wouldn’t be chastised for playing like children. It was the most relaxed Laurens had felt in the last few months, the two of them laughing as they wrestled and each tried to dunk the other beneath the surface. 

Christopher was still two years his senior however- and Laurens grunted as he was pushed up against a half-submerged boulder. The older boy's arms blocked him on both sides, pinning his wrists to the rock just slightly above his head. Laurens struggled for a minute before yielding, letting his head lean back against the boulder as he tried to catch his breath, winded from the struggle and laughter.

The laughter had gone now though. He didn’t know when it had changed- why the air suddenly felt so tense and charged despite the fact they were no longer fighting. 

Christopher still held his wrists, grip rough and strong, and Lauren's eyes darted up briefly before meeting the other boys eyes. His throat suddenly felt all too dry, gaze locked with dark blue as his heart beat faster and a barely perceptible shiver travelled down his spine. The water wasn’t clear enough to really see below the surface, but as his eyes flickered down against his will, there was no mistaking the fact they were both naked. Standing as they were, the water just barely lapped at the tops of the boys hip bones...

“Laurens…”

His eyes ticked up again, and he could see his own feelings mirrored in Christopher’s eyes. Confusion, doubt, _fear_ when they both knew full well that they weren’t supposed to be feeling this. This _feeling_ that was only supposed to be felt with girls... yet Laurens had never experienced unless it was with his eyes closed, filled with thoughts of calloused touch and deep murmurs. But there was something else in Christopher’s gaze- smoldering and desperate, hungry-

“I won’t tell anyone,” Laurens breathed.

That was all the permission the boy needed, and Laurens moaned into his first kiss. 

* * *

-the look sent a familiar shiver down his spine.

The crowd only grew from there, more coming than going, and Hamilton spoke well into the sunset. When he finally had stepped down, there were claps and cheers, and a crowd of them together shambled into a bar to get drunk. 

Not even getting kicked out of that bar dampened their spirits (the owner, some loyalist, indignant over ‘rabel-doers’ making a ruckus). If anything it was only fuel to the fire, and Laurens felt young again as they whooped and hollered through the city, singing drinking songs that echoed through the night air.

Slowly though, their crowd whittled down to a handful, then eventually back to the four of them. They had somehow found their way into another, friendlier bar, drinking and laughing over things that he knew he couldn’t hope to recall once he had sobered up. 

His entire body buzzed warm with alcohol, cheeks hot, and Laurens knew he was grinning like an idiot as he watched his friends. Lafayette was half draped over Hercules, seeming to have forgotten that the tailor didn’t know French as he jabbered away in his native language. For his part, Hercules didn’t seem to mind, eyes half closed and nodding along in solidarity. 

Laurens let his eyes close for what felt like only a minute, but when he opened them again, he noticed that the presence that had been leaning on the back of his chair had vanished. Immediately he rolled his head back, glancing around until his gaze landed on Hamilton nearby. The man had been cheerful all night- hell, near elated with the reception he had received and the sight of people actually _listening_ to him. 

But… now there was a more somber expression there now. Bittersweet, as though Hamilton was already mourning that night, like the memory of a time long passed. An expression that Laurens saw on widows, elders, men who had returned from war- far too serious of an expression for someone as young as him, barely over eighteen. Gaze distant and focused on something far away that only he could see.

Illuminated by the glow of the street lamps from outside, silhouetted in that window, the man looked like something out of a dream.

Pulling away from the rest of the group, drawn like a moth to a flame, his arm found his way around Alexander’s shoulder again. His hand grabbing onto Alexander’s shoulder, firmly, wanting nothing more than for those eyes to be on him again instead of whatever was outside. “You did good out there, Alex.”

Alexander looked away from the window, the pain in his face easing and replaced with warmth. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?” Laurens hummed, feigning ignorance as he took a swig from his mug. 

That just made Alexander smile, the man huffing out a small laugh as he looked out the window again. “Y’knew Robert was going to be speaking today,” The man explained. “I told you a few days ago I was helping him go over his talking points.”

Laurens gave a bit of a shrug with the arm not around Alexander. “Other men shouldn’t be getting credit for your words,” He said simply. “Especially when you’re far more effective with them.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alexander glance back at him with a grin, teasing. “You flatter me. Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Plenty- but I would say it sober too,” Laurens laughed, giving a slight squeeze of the arm around Alexander, enjoying the solid warmth the shorter man provided as he added sincerely. “I know a lot of men with a quarter of your brains, who are only listened to because of who they were born to. Is it flattery that I want people to listen to someone actually worthwhile?”

Whatever Alexander had been expecting him to say, it clearly hadn’t been that. The eyes softened- for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something. Before he could though, Lafayette was stumbling and leaning heavily against Alexander’s other side. “Barkeep is saying last round,” The man bemoaned, head leaning to the side to bump against his fellow immigrants. “Mon ami, your words. We are in need once more.”

Laurens smiled a bit as he watched Lafayette try to convince the man to talk the bartender into allowing them to drink a little longer. With Alexander distracted, he felt his own eyes drift down to the curve of the mans lips as he smiled. The carefully shaped goatee as the man made the most of the facial hair that _did_ grow, wondering if it was soft or still had that short-haired bristle, knowing his question could just be answered if-

His mug was snatched out of his hand, startling him out of his mooning over Alexander long enough to look at Hercules, who had a raised, knowing eyebrow. 

Laurens swallowed. He had never been… open, about his temperament. It had never been said aloud. But there was a calculating expression, the same that the man had worn when studying Laurens during their game of chess...

Then the man raised the glass, with the smallest of nods as though in a silent toast, and handed it back. 

He held the empty pint with both hands, somewhat stunned as Hercules firmly patted him on the shoulder with a smile and turned back to Lafayette. Had- did Hercules know? The only people who had ever been accepting of his desire for men had been… well, men that had desired him back. Hercules bragged often enough about the women he bedded that he knew the man was _very_ straight, and it almost made Laurens dizzy to think about as he looked down at the mug silently.

“Y’alright there, Laurens?” Came the warm voice to his side, a heavy heat settling around his shoulder. 

He looked up, realizing that Lafayette and Hercules were already stumbling away towards the bar again. Judging by the tone of the english-french slurry, it seemed like they were trying to bribe the bartender into just one more round. “Yeah,” He breathed, before letting out a breathless laugh and smiling. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Alexander’s arm didn’t move, the two of them watching their friends in amusement. “You can stay at my place,” Laurens found himself saying, not sure if he was emboldened by the drink in his blood, the possibility of his friend's acceptance, or both. “I live just a block or two away.”

There was a pause at his side. “That would be nice,” Alex said, before seeming to remember they hadn’t come alone. “Should we…?”

Laurens waved it off after depositing the empty mug on the table, his other arm having found a place wrapped around Alexander’s waist. “Nah- they can take care of themselves.”

“Well then, lead the way, good sir.”

* * *

If Alexander had noticed that Laurens had lied, his place more like a few blocks away, he didn’t let on. The entire walk back was silent, a certain stillness between them that crackled with electricity. Occasionally, their hands would brush at their side, jolting and shocking. By the time they arrived, Laurens fumbling with the key, his nerves were shot. Did he look as much of a wreck as he felt like? 

He dropped it, but Alexander was grabbing it with an urgency that reassured him he wasn’t the only one that felt the tension. Like a storm about to break-

The moment they were inside and the door had closed behind them, they were on each other. Laurens didn’t know who started it- but he never wanted it to end. Alexander's lips and tongue tasted like cheap beer, the shorter man pinning him against the closed door and pressing against him with a frantic need. He understood it too well, hot and _wanton_ and pulsing through his blood like a living beast as he tried to shove the other man's coat off. 

_Too much clothing_ Laurens would have said, if he could, but it was like Alexander could read his mind. There were hands on him too, sliding over his waistcoat and under the coat he had worn, letting it fall to the floor. Even through the layers of cloth he could feel the calloused palms and short nails that scratched at his lower back.

They grabbed little gasps of air, usually Laurens. Alexander kissed like he talked. Non-stop, combative, determined and unyielding. It made him nearly dizzy, and even with only his shirt (wait, when had that happened?), he felt hot. Too hot- then there was a hand grabbing at his hair, a knee pushing between his legs so that Alexander’s hip was flush against him and grinding-

Laurens clung to Alexander desperately as though the man was both the storm, and the only support keeping him from being blown away, as he came with a broken, strangled shout.

Moments passed as his vision came back to him, panting and slumped against Alexander. Sweat was damp on his face, and when he pulled away, there was a sort of riveted wonder in the others eyes.

His hands had drifted to Alexander’s hips, not breaking that eye contact as he let himself drop to his knees in front of the man. Drinking in the change in expression, the _knowing_ that flashed over the others face and desire there. 

“Laurens....” His name was said in a breathy, shaky sort of way, as Laurens unfastened the front of the mans trousers with a dexterity he wouldn’t have expected while drunk. 

He couldn’t help but take a minute to admire the sight as the cock sprung out from its confines- Alexander obviously wanted this just as much as he did. Precum dripped from the tip, stout and curving up proudly, hot and reddened. “Fuck, Alex…” 

God he was fucking drunk, and his head spun with desire as he tightened his hold on the mans hips and nuzzled his nose and mouth against that crease between thigh and groin. Breathing in deeply, that heady scent of _man_ , Alex’s dick hot against his cheek and twitching at the slightest touch. The hands had returned to his hair, pulling out the ribbon and burying themselves in the loose curls. He could tell it was taking everything the man had not to impatiently pull-

Alexander gave a choked gasp above him when Laurens mouth finally took him. It was sloppy, and wet- not nearly as much finesse as he would have prided himself on. Not that he needed to though, eyes closed and tongue cradling the underside of the cock in a way that let him _feel_ the desperate pulse and twitch. Alexander couldn’t even get out his full name before the grip in his hair was tightening, curling in over Laurens as he cried out. 

And Laurens swallowed and drowned in that moment.

There was an over-sensitive shudder that he could feel when he pulled back, Alexander still clutching onto him and swaying slightly as though his knees might give out from under him. “Fuck… fuck, Laurens,” Alexander breathed, and Laurens looked up to the awed and dazed expression, then the man laughed. “Your mouth will be the death of me before we even start the war.”

Laurens grinned at the praise, wishing he had managed to last longer instead of cumming in his pants like an over-excited teenager. But as Alexander pulled him up into another slower, sloppy kiss, he tabled that thought. 

Something told him their night wasn’t over.

* * *

Laurens wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to get to the bed the night before. His memory was as foggy as he felt, mouth tacky and tasting foul from the cheap beer he had drank the night before. 

Rolling over, he draped an arm over his eyes with a slightly pained groan. His stomach luckily seemed to be in okay shape, not hungover enough that he felt that overwhelming urge to vomit up bile and acid. But there was definitely that dull thud in his head that told him he had neglected to drink a glass of water before bed like he should have.

The movement next to him caught him off guard, and a heavy arm draped itself over his chest. Maybe he had expected it to be a dream? Fueled by so many lonely nights drunk and with only his hand and fantasies as a companion? But memories of the night before trickled back slowly as he looked at Alexander sprawled next to him, half-covered in blankets as though he had been fighting with them through the night, drooling slightly onto a pillow.

The man was a mess. The ponytail hadn’t been undone before bed, barely held together with strands loose and free, and Laurens could see a red mark that had been sucked onto the skin of his shoulder. In the quiet of the morning he could see how deep the bags were under the mans eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in years. 

Alexander was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever woken up to. 

He hadn’t wanted to disturb him, but Alexander stirred when a strand of hair was tucked behind his ear, groaning much like his companion had before mumbling into the pillow. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Laurens said back softly, and the arm that was around him squeezed slightly before relaxing. Alexander hadn’t pulled away- if anything, seeming content to brush the pad of his thumb back and forth over his chest. As though reassuring him that he knew where he was, that there was no morning-after regret.

He had had that happen once, with a stranger from a bar. Likely would have turned Laurens into the authorities, judging by the disgust in his eyes, if it hadn’t meant admitting his own guilt.

There was none of that disgust in Alexander’s eyes when the man finally opened his and smiled at Laurens- if anything, it was the opposite. Especially when the immigrant pulled himself closer and curled against his side to place lazy, open mouth kisses along his chest and collar bone. Hips rocked hardness against his thigh, questioning, and Laurens answered by turning onto his side to face Alexander so that he could feel the interest in return.

It wasn’t like the night before. There was hunger, but it was a deeper kind that settled warm and glowing in his stomach. Now he had enough coherency that he could run his hands over Alexander, feel along old scars and the ridges of ribs, the lean muscles of the mans back that had been hidden under clothing. Alexander wasn’t thin- but he was skinny for his frame, any extra padding from good meals apparently too expensive a luxury. 

“Next time I’m buying you a meal instead of a beer,” he murmured, and Alexander snorted.

“What, not enough for you to grab?”

“Enough for me to make do,” Laurens chuckled, trailing his hand down the man's back to take a handful of ass and squeeze, and Alexander’s shoulders shook in laughter. 

The man's hand had made their way between them, gripping them together, and Laurens moaned before his lips were captured in another kiss. Even their morning breath couldn’t ruin it, and he let his eyes close as their tongues lazily explored and moved against each other, grinding and grabbing at each other

Slowly their movements grew more frantic, desperate, and it wasn’t long before Laurens was swallowing the man's moan down as Alexander released between them. 

Then the man was pulling back from the kiss, pushing at Laurens shoulder until he was on his back, moving to straddle his waist. “You look so fucking good like this, y’know that?”

“I could say the same,” He managed to say back, mouth dry at the way Alexander looked atop him. 

Something in his expression must have been entertaining, because Alexander's smile widened, even more so at the strangled noise pulled from his throat when the hand returned to stroking him. The calloused hand was slicker now- giving small twists and flicks of the wrist with every pull up. 

“Alex- fuck, Alex,” Laurens gasped, grabbing at the thighs on either side of his waist, back arching. His hips would have bucked up if the mans weight hadn’t been so solidly holding him down, _“Please-”_

He could have sobbed with the way the hand sped up, his head falling back- leaving room for Alexander to lean down, biting and sucking at his exposed throat. The mouth made its way up next to his ear, voice throaty and ragged, _“John .”_

And just like that, he was pushed over the edge.

They lay there for a while, both just catching their breath and recovering. Alexander had relaxed on top of him, breath still hot against his neck where his face was hidden. They didn’t need the blankets with the heat of the summer sun starting to rise outside.

Laurens, meanwhile, stared up at the ceiling with a growing feeling of dread and shame in the pit of his stomach, arm slung around Alexander loosely. 

_What now?_

Most of his ventures with men had been just that… ventures, one night things. Maybe the next morning if they were lucky. Most of the time, there wasn’t any connection outside of male libido and repressed desperation. And even those that there had been the potential for more… there had always been the risk of being caught. He had heard of men being sent to hard labor camps, sentences of up to ten years, for crimes of sodomy.

“Laurens, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” Alexander huffed against the side of his head, startling him out of his thoughts.

He loosened his grip from where it had tightened around the man on top of him, swallowing and admitting. “I just… don’t know what we do now.”

“Oh.”

There was quiet for a brief moment, and he swore he could hear Alexander’s brain working away. In the less than a month that they had known each other though, Laurens found the other man was never silent long. 

“Well, we’re friends, right?” Despite the sureness the words were said with, he could hear that dodgy hesitance. A blunt statement, as though challenging Laurens to say otherwise, the same way that old tomcat had used to growl at him as he had held out food to it. Trying to see if he would react, already ready to fight or flee. “You can’t break your own promise, man. You and I, do or die. Liberty or Death.”

His lips quirked up slightly however. “I guess I did say that,” He agreed.

“And a man of honour wouldn’t go back on his word.”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t.”

“Right.” There was another pause, and Laurens turned his head slightly so that his cheek rested against Alexander’s. Apparently though it wasn’t enough of a confirmation. “And you’re a man of honour, right? Don’t have time in my life to keep company with cowards.”

This time he chuckled, a smile growing. “Imply I’m a coward again, and I’ll take you across the Hudson myself and prove you wrong. Sure I have a pair of dueling pistols somewhere close by.”

The tension that had been coiling in Alexander on top of him seemed to release a bit, finally seeming reassured. “Well. Alright then.”

Well, alright then, indeed. The fact that he wasn’t the only one that didn’t want this to end lifted some weight on his shoulders he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. “But…” He trailed off, moving his lips from the man's cheek to instead lightly nip at the ear and purr. “Maybe later we can try a different kind of dueling? See who can keep from shooting off the longest?”

The suggestion made the man on top of him laugh. “You’re on, Laurens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a disclaimer, Hamilton the musical is not accurate to history, and neither am I :)
> 
> Decided to post a little earlier than planned since I know this coming week I'll likely be busy preparing for Christmas. Kudos, and especially comments, are always loved and appreciated. Feel free to interact with me on Tumblr too at Herewithstupid and shoot me a message!


	3. Farmer Refuted

Then things just… returned to normal.

At least in most ways. Alexander still joined the three of them, went out with all of them, while balancing his other duties to the militia, his college classes, speaking in the streets- and still found time to warm Laurens bed some nights. 

At least, for as long as he could _keep_ Alexander in his bed.

He wasn’t surprised after rolling over to find the other half of the bed empty, groggily reaching out. The space there was cold, and Laurens half debated just going back to sleep before groaning and pushing himself up, blindly grabbing at the foot of the bed until he found the linen shirt that had been discarded earlier. 

Sure enough, he found Alexander at the desk in the next room, quill scratching at the paper furiously as he wrote by candlelight. Laurens didn’t interrupt him right away, leaning against the frame of the door as he watched the man work. The flickering light cast dramatic shadows on the planes of Alexander’s face, keeping most hidden from his view, especially below desk level. There was a single-minded determination in the eyes that nearly glared at the paper in front of him, pausing to glance at a newspaper to his side before finally noticing him. “Sorry, Laurens, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” He reassured, walking over and leaning against the desk. He took the hand that didn’t hold the quill, lifting it up so that he could kiss the knuckles and smile. “Just knew you’d be out here. How could I resist the sight of a handsome man, hard at work, wearing nothing but his underwear?”

Alexander pulled his hand back in mock hurt. “Laurens, you talk about me like I’m nothing but eye candy for you. I’m more than just my handsome looks.”

“Oh?”

“I’m intelligent too.”

“And humble,” Laurens snorted, but still smiling as he instead put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder and glanced down at the writing. “So who’s on your mind in the middle of the night, huh? Should I be jealous?”

“Hardly,” Alexander scoffed, looking away to grab the paper and hand it to him. “Look familiar?”

Raising an eyebrow curiously, Laurens glanced down. “Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress, under A.W. Farmer,” He murmured aloud, raking through his memory. The name didn’t ring a bell, but the document, there was a familiar tone there… implying those that complied with the boycott to be downright shameful- “Seabury? Is this the same guy you tore apart last week in the Commons?”

“I can’t know for sure,” Alexander admitted, but snorted in derision as he took the paper back. “But I’m almost positive. Arguments are the same, talks the same- guess he couldn’t handle being made a fool of in front of everyone. Ran with his tail between his legs to circulate his horseshit under a pseudonym.”

Laurens eyes darted from the paper, down to the parchment still wet with ink. “And you are…?”

“Making sure everyone that reads that paper gets to know what an idiot he is.”

He couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corner of his lips, shaking his head slightly. “Of course you are.”

The man had already looked away, back down and frowning at the parchment he had been scratching at and biting at his lower lip. The nearly black, straight hair had been pulled back again into a haphazard bun, and there was a small crease between the eyebrows, scrunched in thought. The shirt that Alexander wore was too big for him, hanging loosely on the shoulders, unbuttoned, doing nothing to hide the red marks that he had left on the man’s neck. 

Was he still tired? Yes. But it didn’t stop him from pulling over another chair, settling in with a sigh. “Alright- tell me what you got so far.”

That made him look up in brief concern. “You sure, John? I know it’s late,” Alexander asked, voice softer. And if Laurens hadn’t already been sure of his decision, the way the man said his name would have sealed the deal.

“I’m sure,” Laurens reassured, before smirking. “Besides, the only thing better than watching you tear that guy apart the first time, is getting to see you do it a second time.”

Alexander seemed to relax, even grinning a bit at the stroke to his ego as he picked up another paper that had been drying off to the side. “Well, I have a few pages so far, but here’s the start. _‘It was hardly to be expected that any man could be so presumptuous, as openly to controvert the equity, wisdom, and authority of the measures, adopted by the congress-”_

And so Laurens leaned a chin on his hand, smiling and content to listen to the sound of Hamilton’s voice. Occasionally he chimed in with agreement, or a suggestion, which the man would be quick to scribble in or debate. 

To be honest, he could understand how Hamilton rubbed so many people the wrong way. The man was so… _passionate_ when he argued. Most men that Laurens knew had their ego’s so closely tied to their beliefs, that it was unsurprising a discussion with the immigrant would leave them feeling as though they had personally been attacked. 

Not that Hamilton was any better at separating them sometimes.

But from what he could tell, it was a ‘survival of the fittest’ approach for the man. Any thoughts that couldn’t be defended and fought with _deserved_ to die. So Hamilton learned, and read, and wrote, and constantly fought and fought with his ideas until the fat had been trimmed off and he was left with a solution that would _win_. Even when he failed, he would just try again and again, fight tooth and nail until he ended up on top.

 _If only more people were half as driven,_ Laurens thought to himself fondly, nodding as Hamilton seemed to get particularly worked up about a point, gesturing at an imaginary opponent. _The British wouldn’t know what to do with themselves._

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed awake, talking into the wee hours of the morning. But Hamilton finally seemed to pause when he noticed Laurens stifling a yawn, glancing at how low the candle had burned before putting down his quill. “Come on, I’ve kept you up late enough,” Alexander said, standing from the chair and offering his hand. “We could still grab a few hours of sleep.”

Laurens let the man pull him up, smiling. “You sure? You seem pretty worked up now.”

Alexander chuckled, taking the candle holder in one hand and wrapping his other arm around the taller man's waist. “A bit, but I’ll get by. I have you, don’t I?”

He smirked, rolling his eyes as they walked to the bedroom again. “Is my skill with the tongue that undeniable?”

That got an actual bark of laughter out of Alexander, who gave an affectionate squeeze of the arm before placing the candle holder down on the bedside table. “Yes- undeniable and incomparable,” He agreed, turning to face Laurens chest to chest. It was an intimate embrace, made that much more so by the darkness. The only glow was the candle light, making silhouettes of Alexander’s face. “But I wasn’t referring to that.”

“Oh?” His own arms had loosely wrapped around Alexander, teasing. “Then how do you expect me to help at all?”

One of Alexander’s hands came up, cupping the side of his face in an unexpectedly tender gesture. “Just... lay next to me,” He said, voice quiet. “I never have the chance to admire you as I wish. So I will simply count the freckles upon your cheeks, see if they are as numerous as the stars, until I drift into dreams of them.”

The words were unexpected, like a punch to the chest, and Laurens found himself struck dumb and speechless. Was he imagining the way that his heart was beating faster, harder? Or was he just suddenly aware of it now as it tried to break out of his chest as though it didn’t belong to him anymore?

For a moment, Alexander, looking concerned by the silence he got in response, made to pull his hand back. Immediately though his own hand had come up overtop of his, keeping it there and swallowing as he tried to think of something to say.

In the end, the best he could come up with was to lean forward and kiss the man, and whisper a quiet, “Of course.”

* * *

It had already been late fall when Alexander had first read and started working on his response to Seabury, Laurens helping him in between his own writings and work. He even managed to get two letters written to send back to Martha in London.

He hadn’t… there hadn’t been a reason to tell Alexander about his marriage. Not yet. His ring gathered dust somewhere in his last travelling trunk, a memento he preferred to live without if he could help it. Besides- what did dwelling on it accomplish? It wasn’t a marriage of love, or affluence, or power. Just his responsibility. 

Laurens frowned into the mirror as his fingers fumbled over the waterfall knot of the cravat in his distraction. 

How was he to know that women so easily could become pregnant? 

He pulled off the cloth in frustration, leaning against the countertop of the sink and closing his eyes as he took a breath to calm down. 

It wasn’t like he had even been attracted to her… yes, she had been a friend of his, growing up. Nice enough girl. He remembered the look of pity in her eyes as she had comforted him, drunk and still a wreck from his last letter exchanged with Francis. He had had enough sense to not name his beloved (citing he wanted to protect the ladies reputation), had used the ‘correct’ pronouns. She had been moved by his sentimentalism and before he had known it, her hand had hesitantly been on his thigh as she leaned in, saying how she ‘wished’ she could ease his pain somehow. 

A few drinks in, heartbroken from the loss of the only relationship he had ever had, Martha Manning seemed like a cure for his pain. Perhaps after being with a woman, he would understand the allure and the appeal that so many other men talked about. 

She had been exactly everything beautiful poetry and raunchy barroom talk had led him to expect of a woman in bed. Submissive, gentle, soft- eager to be held and taken. She had taken his hand and placed it between her legs at some point, letting his fingers feel the slick wetness there between her lips.

Really, it had been a wonder that he had managed to finish at all.

Things had been awkward between them, for a while after that. They were still friendly in public, still amicable. But they didn’t have any truly intimate discussions again until almost five months later, when she had broken down crying to him about the pregnancy... 

Laurens let out a deep sigh, pushing himself back up and tying the cravat once more as he did his best to banish the thoughts. This time the knot folded into place properly. Putting on the waistcoat went much quicker, and soon enough, he was sliding on the thick woolen frock coat and tying his hair back.

Winter had come fast it seemed, and as he locked the door to his place behind him, he found himself shivering and grateful he had dug out the hat that at least helped keep his head somewhat warm. A quick glance at the sky luckily showed that despite the chill, it seemed that they would be spared snow. 

For now, anyway.

He stopped to buy a paper, pulling out his pocket watch to glance at the time, but was at the graveyard of St. Paul’s Chapel soon enough. He could hear the militia before he saw them, and finally stopped to lean on the iron gate and watch the men march and drill. 

It took him a minute to spot Hamilton- near the front, of course, having drawn himself up to his full height and standing at attention. _The uniforms suit them well_ , Laurens thought to himself idly, hitching a thumb in the pocket of his trousers as he waited for the drills to conclude. The green jacket looked almost emerald against the dark hair and tan complexion, and the cocked hat framed the eager and intense face. 

The drill sergeant dismissed them, and the men relaxed and began to either drift apart to leave, or chatter with one another. Laurens had been prepared to wait, but Alexander had already spotted him, and was walking over with a shit eating grin. 

“Yo, man guess what just got published tod-,”

Laurens held up the paper that had been tucked in his coat with a smirk. “What, this little thing?”

“Little? I’ll have you know it would have been longer if you hadn’t convinced me it should be succinct,” Alexander scoffed, though looking pleased at the fact that Laurens had already been one step ahead of him. 

“Really?” Laurens feigned surprise, making a show of looking over the front. “Says here that it was written by, and I quote, _‘A Friend of America’._ Did you help him with this?”

“Hardy har,” Alexander snatched the paper away from him, though there was no real vitriol in the voice. “You come all this way just to mock me?”

Laurens laughed, clapping a hand on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Well, someone has to. Now c’mon, you wanted help with your studies?”

“Just gotta make a stop first, pick up some of my notes,” Alexander explained, the two of them falling in easy step next to each other. “Hercules said he’d patch up my favorite coat anyway as a favor, and I want to see if he finished it.”

Laurens hummed in agreement. While the green jacket was fetching on Alexander… it certainly didn’t look like it was the warmest. “He designed your guys' uniforms, didn’t he?”

Alexander let out a “yup,” popping his lips on the p sound, hands shoved on the jacket pockets. 

He chanced another admiring glance at Alexander, and this time the man didn’t miss it, eyes gleaming mischievously. “It fits you well,” which wasn't a lie. It fit the man _very_ well, the breeches tighter than what he normally saw Alexander in, and the knee high boots accentuating the strong calves. 

“You’d be surprised what I’m good at making fit,” Alexander replied cheekily, and Laurens was grateful for the cold weather he could blame the flush of his cheeks on. 

Judging by the smirk on Alexander’s face, his hasty throat clearing did nothing to hide how the words had affected him. “So, uh, how far…”

“Impatient are we?”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Alexander laughed at that, and the walk seemed to fly by easily as they walked down the streets. While Laurens wished he could walk close enough to share warmth, it was too early in the day, and they were too sober, to be excusing too much excessive contact. Still, even just the companionship was nice, and soon enough they were letting themselves into the warm tailors shop. 

Hercules glanced up from a pair of pants he had been working on, but put the project down when he realized who it was. “Didn’t expect to see you back till tonight, man,” The larger man rumbled, standing up and walking over. 

Alexander met his greeting easily- a slap of hands, a fist bump, before clasping in a handshake and bumping shoulders with each other. “Yeah, forgot to pack my notes earlier for studying tonight.”

The larger man gave Laurens the same greeting with a “Good to see ya, man,”, before slinging an arm around his shoulder and looking back at Alexander. “Big test must be coming up with how much you’ve been studying lately.”

“Some studying, a lot of writing,” Alexander admitted, before seeming to remember the paper he had been carrying and grinning as he handed it off to Hercules. “Check it, you’re friends with a published author now.”

Hercules whistled, taking the paper and glancing it over. “I’ll give it a read,” He said, before pausing and looking up at Alexander again. “... How many pages is this?”

“Unimportant,” Alexander lied, waving off the concern and already turning away. “I’ll be back down in a few, just gotta pack my books. Don’t wait up for me tonight though.”

They watched as Alexander disappeared up the stairs, Hercules removing his arm from Laurens shoulder and tossing the paper onto a nearby table. “So,” He started, leaning against the counter. “Lafayette and I were gonna head down to the bar later, you in?”

“Can’t,” Laurens shrugged, taking off his hat while he waited inside. “Helping Alex with his studying tonight.” When Hercules raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, he glanced away, trying not to sound too defensive, “I went to college in Geneva for some time for law- so I know a lot of what he’s studying anyway. Just makes sense for me to help.”

Course, he never _finished_. But he had learned some things.

Hercules didn’t look impressed with the excuse, but shrugged it off. “Whatever man, just make sure you two are makin’ time to take a load off once in a while,” The man sighed. “Our man there would be the type to work himself to death, no doubt.”

Well, Hercules wasn’t wrong. “I’m sure once his semester is over, we’ll have the chance to join you two a lot more.”

“Holdin’ ya to that,” Hercules agreed, before looking a bit more serious. “I mean it though, John. Whatever things goin’ on between you two, just…”

The man trailed off hesitantly, waving a hand as though trying to figure out the words, seeming to ignore the way he had made Laurens heart stop. 

“Don’t fuck it up.” Hercules finished, before pausing and adding more sincerely. “Relax together once in a while. It’s good finally seein’ ya smile regularly.”

That, of course, was when Alexander came down, pausing at the foot of the stairs and seeming to sense the change in atmosphere of the room. “Everything good?”

“All good,” Hercules reassured, before seeming to remember. “Hold on, got your coat all fixed up, just gotta go get it.”

The man grunted, as he pushed himself back to standing, stretching as he walked off into the back room. Laurens still felt speechless, stomach flipping so violently he thought he may just be sick right there, and he could feel the concerned frown and flickering eyes from Alexander as the man tried to figure out what had happened while he was gone. When a questioning hand touched his shoulder, Laurens flinched like he had been burned, stepping away to put a step of distance between them. “I’m fine, I’ll tell you later,” He finally choked out, looking away quickly from Alexander as Hercule returned. 

The smaller man may not have been the patient type, but seemed to understand now wasn’t the time to push, focusing instead on thanking Hercules. “Looks like new,” Alexander grinned, and he could hear the sounds of the green jacket being unbuttoned and thrown off to the side in exchange for grabbing the coat. 

“The fuck, I ain’t the house servant-”

“Thanks man, see you tomorrow,” Alexander called back cheerfully, coat already thrown on, grabbing Laurens by the elbow (too strong to pull away this time) and dragging him back outside before their friend could stop them. 

* * *

Laurens should have realized that Alexander wouldn’t have let it go. 

“So, what was Hercules talking to you about earlier?”

“Hmm?” He answered distractedly, not looking up from the portable desk balanced on his lap. He had thought with how often Alexander worked at his place, it may just make more sense to get a second desk, but there hadn’t been a pressing need as of yet. Despite his fathers nagging, he barely wrote enough to even warrant _one_ desk. Alexander made far more use of it than he did.

“When I came down from getting my notes? You seemed upset.”

Laurens glanced up now, stopping the movements of his own quill. Alexander had paused what he was working on, leaning back in his chair and watching Laurens with a raised eyebrow. He may have been able to brush it off with a white lie easier if the man had still been distracted with his studies. That didn’t stop him though from shrugging, looking back down and continuing his work as though it wasn’t a matter worth talking about. “Nothing important, just telling us to take a break once in a while.”

He could hear the frown in the other's voice. “Laurens…”

He huffed out a frustrated noise, leaning back in his chair. “It’s nothing,” Laurens shut down irritably. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well clearly it does,” Alexander shot back, now putting his quill down and looking annoyed. 

Laurens bit his tongue as his temper flared, glaring at the other. “Christ, Alex, do you have to shove your way into everything? Just drop it!”

“I _do_ when you won’t fuckin’ talk to me-”

“He _knows.”_ That shut up Alexander, and Laurens inhaled a trembling breath after the outburst, before explaining himself quieter. “He… he knows how we’ve been spending time with each other.”

“...and?”

“The fuck you mean, Alex? _‘And?’_ Hercules _knows!”_

Alexander’s eyes were flickering over him, the irritation from earlier now a more subdued concern. And why was he looking concerned for Laurens? Didn’t he understand how this affected him too? “Do you think he would do something about it?” the man asked, uncertain, the real question hidden beneath the words. 

Did he think Hercules would report them to the authorities.

“I don’t- maybe? No?” He moved the desk off of his lap, needing to stand and pace. Now that he was saying it, out loud, that restless energy was back and coiling like a tense spring inside him That fight or flight instinct that had roared to life in the shop where Hercules lived and worked (and too, where Alexander technically lived, since the man had taken him in). Frustrated, he ran a shaking hand through his hair, fingers catching and tugging at loose curls. “He _could_ though, Alex, that’s the problem. You live with him, people would _believe_ him.”

He didn’t notice the man had gotten up until his other hand was being grabbed, Alexander pulling him to a stop. “Hercules is our _friend,_ John,” The man reminded him, looking up at him as though trying to talk sense into him.

“They’re _always_ a friend until they fucking find out,” Alexander looked taken aback by the harsh way that Laurens snapped at him, but he couldn’t stop it. He remembered the awkward days of college, the rumors and suspicion even though he had tried so hard to hide it, the looks of disgust from the house servant upon finding Francis’s letter, and the names that were spit at him, his fathers excuses, the strange glances he had got from boys when he was younger and not joining in to talk about girls they had fancied-

“Hey, hey,” Alexander had pulled him close, embracing him, and Laurens swallowed back the fear that had been choking him. The arms were strong, and steady, and he found himself bringing up his own to wrap around him in return. The man was grounding, and after a minute of silence between them and Laurens trying to steady his breathing, Alexander spoke again. “I want you to tell me exactly what he said, Laurens.”

He wanted to protest- but here, in his arms, he found that saying no was much more difficult. “He… he told us to make sure to take time to take a break once in a while…”

“And?”

“And that, whatever was goin’ on between us, to make sure I don’t fuck it up. That he…” Laurens flushed a little, and found himself untensing slightly even as he said the words. Said aloud, they didn’t seem as threatening as they had before. “Uh, that he… was glad to see me smiling more...”

There was a moment of silence from the man in his arms, before Alexander chuckled. “Very threatening. I can see why you were so worried.”

His face flushed even redder, almost feeling foolish for his outburst. “Alex-”

“No, no, I get it,” Alexander reassured him, grip loosening on Laurens so that he could turn and smile up at him. It was a bemused, exasperated smile. But an understanding one. “It just caught you off guard, that he knew.”

Laurens hesitated before admitting, “I had a feeling he _might_ know, since the first night I asked you to come over. Just…” He struggled for the words,one of his hands playing with the end of the man’s ponytail. “You just don’t _talk_ about those kinds of things unless you plan on doing something about it, y’know? So, when he _said_ something…”

Alexander nodded. “That meant he was inevitably going to _do_ something about it.”

Laurens nodded silently, that shameful dread that had been in his gut from their first morning together twisting about. 

The man in his arms seemed to be debating something, before sighing and catching Laurens attention. “Well, I might as well let you know that it’s not just Hercules that knows.”

“What?”

Alexander grinned, looking sheepish. “Lafayette knows too.”

Laurens swore the blood rushed to his ears, feeling dizzy for a moment and like he may just faint. Alexander seemed to think he might too, if the expression of alarm was any indication and the way that he was quickly guided to sit back down. “John? John, are you-”

“How?”

“He, uh, asked me about two or three weeks ago, when we were all out swimming,” Alexander explained, kneeling down next to Laurens. 

“Before it got too cold to go again?”

Alexander snorted. “It’s _always_ cold, I don’t know how you all bear it up here in the water,” The man griped, managing to make Laurens lips twitch upwards faintly. He supposed compared to the Caribbean where the man was from, New York waters would always seem freezing. 

“So we went swimming? I don’t see how…”

“It was near the end- you and Hercules were still in the water, me and Lafayette were drying out on the shore,” Alexander explained, one hand still holding Lauren’s, thumb stroking over the back.

He remembered that. Alex had been bitching about the water being too cold, and had looked like a disgruntled, wet cat when their response had been to splash him with more water. Hercules of course was used to the weather, and Laurens was just glad to enjoy what was likely the last day of warm- _ish_ weather before it _really_ got cold. Lafayette had been content to wander in and out of the water for the most part, falling asleep under the Fall sun on the shore.

“I guess he picked up something in the way I was watching you- but he asked me in French if you had returned my friendship yet. I said of course, but he corrected me, asking if we were friends in the, ah…” Alexander cleared his throat. _“French_ way.”

He should have really convinced his father to send him to university in France.

“I told him I didn’t know what he meant, but he reassured me about his own lovers that he had back home before travelling to America. Not that they’re completely open about it, mind you,” Alexander admitted, giving the hand in his own a squeeze. “Still _technically_ a crime. But outside of the public eye, it’s much more accepted.”

Laurens went silent, looking away from Alexander and down at the floor, swallowing. “So, he…?”

“Is like me in that sense, I suppose,” The man shrugged. “Appreciates handsome and beautiful features, regardless of gender, you know?”

He didn’t know. He had had some idea Alexander was more flexible in that sense. The man was quick to admire, and even quicker to flirt when they were out and about. Laurens hadn’t seen him flirt with men… but, then again, flirting with one’s own gender had to be a lot more subtle, to nearly non-existent. Raunchy stories that had been shared when they had all been drinking too seemed to imply that his ease with women wasn’t just in words.

So why was Alexander here with him, that night, and so many nights before? He remembered his night with Martha, his desperation to see if a woman's touch might cure him of what his church had taught him was a revolting sin against God. Knew even when Alexander disappeared with an arm wrapped around a slim waist, that he would be beside Laurens the next day looking up at him with eyes that soothed the jealous sting of the evening before. 

If the man was satisfied with a woman's touch, then why did he still return to Laurens? 

“So they both know then.”

“Laurens,” Alexander sighed, though it was with an affectionate, bemused tone. _“John._ I have _lived_ with Hercules for over two months now. Did you think he _wouldn’t_ notice that I sleep over at your place almost as often as I sleep at home?”

Finally a small smile cracked his composure, and even though the knowledge that his friends _knew_ still made him feel a little sick, Alexander’s reassurance had eased a good deal of the fear. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” The man replied back cheekily, standing up next to Laurens. “Now c’mon, the sooner you help me study these notes, the sooner I can study your body instead.” 

Laurens glanced up, laughing at the wink sent his way, before sighing and grabbing the desk he had placed off to the side. “Alright, alright, slave-driver, I’m almost done with your mock test. Get back to your own desk before you distract me.”

* * *

It wasn’t the first time that A.W. Farmer decided to write to the paper- apparently feeling bolder in refuting Hamilton when they weren’t face to face. Perhaps he thought too that the man had worn his arguments out and had no more to give. 

Hamilton started his retaliatory draft the same night. 

If Laurens had disliked Seabury before, he _especially_ disliked him now. Because it was the middle of winter. Alexander wasn’t allowed to write in bed with the portable desk after he had already spilled an inkpot on the sheets (twice), which meant that the man was composing his response almost every night at the desk, instead of warming his bed.

He twirled his own quill, half debating getting up and stoking the fire once more. It cast a warm light, and helped keep the study a reasonable temperature, but he knew they would be heading to bed soon. 

Outside snow fell- something that, originally, had been a source of wonder for the Caribbean immigrant. The two of them, Hercules, and Lafayette had all been together when they had noticed it falling outside, and would have dismissed it if it hadn’t been for the stunned look of wonder on Alexander’s face. 

He smiled fondly at the memory, the quill faintly scratching over the paper as he drew. Alexander had dragged them outside, amazed and talking excitedly about how he had only read about snow thus far, astounded at how much had fallen already without their noticing. Had even stuck his tongue out to catch a snowflake (God, that sight alone had almost made him dizzy with how fast blood had rushed from his head to other places). The months of living in New York had stolen some of the man's initial tan- so that Laurens could see the reddish flush the cold brought to the cheeks. 

The moment had, of course, been promptly broken by the snowball that Hercules had _pelted_ the man with. 

Alexander had fallen back on his ass, looking gobsmacked and stunned by the unexpected assault. It had been enough to make Laurens wheeze in laughter, though unable to do so for long, as soon Lafayette was hurling a snowball as well, and all chaos broke out. 

Lafayette was quick to join the side of his fellow immigrant, the two men setting up a blockade behind a nearby carriage. Hercules continued to lay down the offensive fire, and when Laurens had seen Alexander sneak into an alley that he knew circled back around to them, he moved silently to cut the man off. 

The look of betrayal when Alexander had turned the corner to find him waiting “John- you wouldn’t,” Alexander had started, attempting to step back, before being hit straight-on in the face with the snowball 

“All is fair in love and war,” Laurens had replied back snickering. 

Of course, it had been a while since that first snowfall, and Alexander had learned to dread the cold it brought just like the rest of them. Even from here he could see the occasional, faint shiver. “I am amazed this fucking ink hasn’t frozen like everything else,” Hamilton finally cursed, crossing out something he had written and tossing the quill down with frustration to try to rub his hands together and warm them. 

“You say that like you wouldn’t find a way to chisel the ink out and still send a letter to Seabury with it,” Laurens chuckled, re-inking his own quill and continuing with his work. 

“I absolutely would,” Alexander huffed. “But he could have the decency to at least be an idiot in the spring, so I could write in comfort.”

“My poor Alexander, freezing to death,” Laurens leaned back in his seat, “If only there was something in my power I could do to warm you.”

Unsurprisingly, that seemed to catch Alexander’s attention. “Oh?” The man turned a bit in his seat, crossing his legs and leaning one elbow on the table.

Laurens hummed out an affirmation, looking back down at his drawing and pretending to not be interested. “I know you’re hard at work though, I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“I mean, you wouldn’t…”

“Plus I know you had so much more you wanted to draft tonight,”

“You’re always the one telling me it can wait till tomorrow,”

“With such important things you need to work on…”

“C’mon, John.”

The near-pout finally broke him, and he laughed, putting aside the mobile desk. “Fine, fine, you know I can’t say no to you.”

The definitely-not-a-pout was replaced with a smirk, Alexander moving quickly from where he had been seated to straddle Laurens lap in the chair. He always seemed to like the position- perhaps because the seating made them equal in height? Laurens knew better than to wonder that part out loud. “Most people can’t.”

Laurens rolled his eyes, but still brought up his hands to cup Alexander’s face and draw him into a kiss. While the young man's goatee was still thin, it tickled against his own face as their lips moved together in the best of ways. 

Slowly but surely the kiss grew more heated, hands wandering and working at each other's clothes. They had barely undressed since they had come in, really only shedding their thick coats. Now though he could use his grip on the mans neckerchief to pull him closer before slowly undoing the knot, the pads of his thumbs brushing against the neck skin as it was exposed. Alexander's hands were in his hair, pulling impatiently at the ribbon that had kept it tied back and casting it to the side as though its very existence was insulting. 

Laurens was halfway through unbuttoning the waistcoat when their kiss broke, both of them panting soft huffs of breath against the others lips. Before Alexander could steal another kiss though, he seemed to spot what Laurens had been working on, and paused. 

“Is that…?”

If his cheeks hadn’t been red before, they were now. “It’s nothing, Alex,” he tried to distract the man, hands opening the front of the waistcoat and running up along the shirt.

But the man was nothing if not persistent, keeping one hand on Laurens shoulder while the other snatched the parchment to look closer. The dark eyes were flickering over the near-finished drawing, seemingly speechless, and he thought he may just sink into the chair in embarrassment. “This is…” 

“Sorry, there wasn’t much else to draw,” Laurens mumbled out the lie. There were _plenty_ of things for him to sketch- and it was certainly not the first time that he had made Alexander the subject. The man was captivating. 

“Don’t apologize- this is…” Alexander cut him off, before trailing off again, finally looking up at Laurens with an expression of… he didn’t know what to call it. It was like disbelief, mixed with the same wonder he had seen the man look at snow with. “Is this how you see me?”

Laurens glanced down at the drawing. It was simple, just his Hamilton, at work, coat thrown over the back of the chair and worrying the end of his quill between his lips with a thoughtful expression. Both deep in thought and at ease, relaxed in the chair so that the hard lines of his silhouette seemed to stretch invitingly. “It’s… not how I see you, Alex,” Laurens responded quietly, looking back up. “It’s how you are.”

That tom-cat edge was back once more, Alexander looking over him so carefully, _searching_ for the lie. The eyes flickered back down at the drawing again. Then, Alexander was placing it carefully off to the side, and bringing his hands up instead to cup Laurens face and kiss him. Slower, this time, with some unspoken emotion and message that he couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend. 

He closed his own eyes, returning it with equal softness in a moment that seemed to stretch on for a blissful eternity. When they broke, Alexander’s lips brushed his own as he murmured. “Do you… you have oil, right?”

For a second, he wasn’t completely sure why the man was asking. Usually their saliva, or their own precum was more than enough if they were using their hands alone. Then the implication rushed to him all at once, heat both in his cheeks and further south in a way that he knew Alexander could feel. “Y-Yeah, in the nightstand,” He breathed. An aid for his lonely nights, something he hadn’t used for a while when he had someone so eager to use their mouth instead.

Alexander kissed him again, grinding down against Laurens for a few moments before getting up. “C’mon,” The man extended a hand, looking as heated and excited as Laurens felt, and he could see the lips wet and swollen in the light of the dying fire. 

He let Alexander pull him up and lead him by his hand to the bedroom. It was colder inside, darker as the sun had set a few hours prior, and he let go of the hand to fumble and light a candle, Alexander sitting and beginning to pull off his boots. 

“Let me,” Laurens insisted, kneeling down in front of Alexander and running a hand down the man’s leg until he could take him by the ankle. With a tug, he took off one boot, and then the next, not looking up at the immigrant but able to feel the heated gaze as he worked next on the stockings that went up to the knees. 

“You know this isn’t fair, John.”

Laurens hummed, cradling the second foot and laying a kiss on the inside of the calf before glancing up at him. “How so?”

“You have me down to my trousers and shirt- while you’re still decent to go outside if you wanted,” Alexander shot back.

He huffed out a laugh, moving to a standing position in front of the man and smiling. “I _definitely_ don’t want that- but, if you want to make me indecent enough to be sure I won’t leave…”

The backs of Alexander’s ankles hooked around his calves, pulling him closer so that he stood flush against the bed and between the spread legs. Hands he had spent so many hours watching write reached up- his cravat was already long gone, lost probably somewhere with the ribbon he used to tie back his hair. Slowly the fingers flicked open each button of the waist coat, the dark eyes taking in each movement with the same intensity they had when drafting his essays.

“You’re going to spoil me with this attention,” Laurens breathed, half joking and half serious as the hands spread across his stomach, sliding up the chest before pulling the waistcoat off.

“Just trying to remedy a crime,” Alexander murmured back to him, pulling his shirt free of his trousers to unbutton it as well. 

“A crime of what? Your insatiable libido?”

“The crime that no one had been giving you this attention before we met,” The man corrected, smiling as he pushed the shirt off too and pausing to rake his gaze over the skin that was exposed. Laurens wasn’t sure if it was the cold in the air, the words, or the eyes that made him shiver, but hands ran over the goosebumps that appeared in its wake. 

“Alex…”

“C’mere,” The man didn’t give him a chance to talk again, pulling him down into another heated kiss. 

Laurens had never had a chance to tell the man how he tasted. Of how he could close his eyes and imagine that exuberant excitement when he had been traveling back home to the colonies to join the coming fights. When they parted, his lips tasted faintly of salt, like the spray of the waves, of ocean air, endless horizons and _potential._

He said none of it though. Though a sentimentalist, he had never quite been a poet.

By the time they broke again, he had made sure that he wasn’t the only one shirtless. Reluctantly he pulled back, looking away long enough to lean over and fumble with the bedside drawer, reaching inside blindly for the glass vial of oil he kept inside. Alexander seemed to understand, fumbling with the buttons of his own trousers so that they were already undone when the oil had been found. 

“Have you done this before?”

“To myself, a few times,” Alexander admitted, hands now working at the front of Laurens pants as well. “And to one other guy I met on the ship first coming over here. Haven’t been on the receiving end before.”

Though the tone was casual, Laurens didn’t miss the significance of what was being offered to him. “I’ll be slow then,” He murmured, kissing the man's forehead and hooking his fingers in the pants to pull them down.

Alexander helped, laying back and lifting his hips so the trousers could slide off easily, finally bared and free. “And you? I assumed you had experience before if your mouth had been anything to go by?” The immigrant teased, propping himself on his elbows so that he wasn’t completely beneath Laurens. 

“What makes you think I’m the type to kiss and tell?”

“Oh c’mon, I told you,”

“Alex, you don’t kiss and tell, you kiss and volunteer.”

The man opened up to retort, but seemed to consider the words for a moment, and sighed. “Alright, I guess I deserve that one.”

Laurens smiled, throwing the pants off to the side and patting a bare leg to encourage the man further up the bed. “I’ve been around the block a few times, on both ends. Only one consistent partner… but I haven’t had any complaints.”

Alexander grinned, spreading his legs slightly wider as Laurens joined him on top of the sheets. “Was he better than me?”

“You keep talking about my ex-lovers in bed like this, you’ll be finishing with your hand tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” The man laughed, leaning up to place a placating kiss on the lips before smirking. “We both know the answer anyway.”

Laurens fought the urge to roll his eyes, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re insufferable,” He chastised, popping open the vial and spreading the oil on two of his fingers before stopping it up once again. The cocky expression on Alexander’s face faltered though at the slick fingers that reached between his legs, his index idly tracing the sensitive skin and running along the outside of the mans entrance. 

He pressed lightly, not forcing the finger in but almost massaging the ring of muscle patiently. After a few seconds, Alexander slowly stopped tensing, and it was able to slide in without much resistance. “And for the record,” Laurens murmured, catching Alexander’s attention again. “You’re _much_ better.”

Despite Alexander’s cocky declarations earlier, the man still flushed at the reassurance. It made Laurens smile as he gently worked the one finger inside, watching the red dust not only the cheeks, but his neck and collarbone too. Leaning down to place a kiss on the dip between shoulder and chest, he smiled against the skin when the man spoke again. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” Laurens hummed, moving up to nuzzle and kiss at the neck, distracting Alexander from what was no doubt the strange sensation of his finger pumping slowly. “That’s right,” He purred. “You’re so good to me, Alex. You’re always so eager to drag me off somewhere private and suck me off-”

There was a little, shaky inhale from the man as Laurens pressed in a second finger, and he laid an encouraging kiss against the jawline. “God, when you’re on your knees with my cock in your mouth, it takes everything I have not to come right there.”

“Jack…”

“You’re doing so good, Alex,” He shushed, unsurprised to feel the effect his words were having on the man. Leaning over Alexander like he was to have access to the neck while his fingers worked, he could feel his forearm brushing against the hard length now standing proudly between his legs. Occasionally Alexander would tense, tight and obviously not having done this for a while. 

But for all of his usual impatience, for all the times Laurens was lectured that he was rash and impulsive- this was not one of those times. 

Alexander groaned as the fingers curled and massaged inwards, head falling back. “Fuck, _fuck._ Jack, if you keep teasing me like this, I’m not going to last…”

Laurens smiled a little bit at the warning, but slowed his fingers. He knew what Alexander meant was he wanted Laurens to get on with it, but instead he withdrew his hand so he could add more oil, returning it and gently encouraging a third alongside the others. “Even if you didn’t last, Alex, I’m still going to fuck you,” He murmured down at him. “I’d just take my time nice and slow with you. Seat you on my cock, kiss and touch you until you were hard for me again, till you’re begging for me to move…”

A sharp twist of the fingers inwards dragged a groan-like sob out of Alexander, the man practically shaking now. Laurens could do this all night, just admiring the beauty of Alexander falling to pieces, the sight of his cock straining and leaking pre-cum onto his stomach, needy and desperate. 

Still, even he was only a man. 

Withdrawing the fingers, he smiled at the shudder that the action drew out of Alexander. While he was probably using more oil than was necessary, he had found through experience that it was _far_ better to have too much than too little. 

Alexander had managed to once more look up at Laurens as he stroked and spread the oil along his own arousal. The eyes smoldering even in the candlelight, hair loose and wild around his face. 

“Love when you look at me like that,” Laurens murmured, moving the whole of his body between Alexander’s legs. One arm held him up, the other hand holding himself steady and teasing the entrance with the tip. 

“And what look is that?” Alexander asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, nervous energy coiled up like a spring. 

Laurens kissed those lips as he gently eased forward, feeling that ring of muscle spread until just the head had slid in with a ‘pop’ that he could feel shudder through Alex. Even with the preparation there was a choked grunt of pain, and Laurens pulled back with a steadying breath as he kept his hips painfully still. “Hunger,” the hand that had been guiding him now reached up to stroke Alexander’s cheek as the man adjusted to the sensation “Just… hunger. For more.”

Alexander took a deep breath, before releasing it slowly, and Laurens could feel the effort that the man was making to relax. Finally after a second, the eyes blinked open again from where they had screwed shut in concentration, meeting his own. Then Alexander hooked a leg around him, pulling Laurens closer, “I do. I want more,” Alexander breathed, “Please, Jackie.”

God it took every ounce of willpower not to sink the rest of the way in at the words, the nickname, the way Alexander _pulled_ at him. Desperate for some kind of distraction, he ducked his head down again for another kiss, easing and rocking his hips forward so that he could sink inside that maddening heat so slowly he thought he may just lose himself completely. 

“Fuck, fuck you feel so good, Alex,” He groaned as their lips broke again, moving his head to the side, pressing his forehead against the hot shoulder. Alexander’s arms had reached up, wrapping around him and scratching lightly at his back in a way that made goosebumps shiver down him. 

After what seemed like a small eternity, Laurens bottomed out, his hips flush against Alexander. His hand that had been on the face had moved, down to slide and wrap around the sturdy body and hold their chests against each other. Alexander’s heart pumped against his own as he struggled to keep still. The tight heat around him was tensing, almost fluttering, adjusting to the feeling of intrusion. Then Alexander was pressing up, hips jerking and almost whining with impatience.

The action sent a thrill of pleasure up his spine, and he pulled out to rock back in and meet Alexander, nearly hissing at the friction. “God, baby, you’re still so tight,” He could hear how strained his own voice was, managing to sit up, hand moving to stroke the trembling stomach soothingly. “You’re okay. Just relax.”

“Tryin’ here, Jack,” Alexander grunted back at him, the hand that wasn’t still on Laurens shoulder fisting the sheets. He could see where even in the cold, some sweat dampened the man's forehead, hair sticking to it and brow furrowed in concentration. “How many times I gotta tell you you have a big dick till you belie _ngh_ -”

The words ended strangled as Laurens moved again- setting up a gentle, slow pace, more movement and rolling hips then any real thrusting. “I know you are, I know,” Laurens murmured, the hand moving from the stomach and running along the spread thigh to his side. “You’re doing so good. So damn fucking good, I wish you could see how you look stretched around my cock like this.”

Alexander didn’t reply, but he could tell the words were getting to the man just by the change in breathing and the twitch of the cock between them. He’d been quick to discover that Alexander had a bit of a thing for when Laurens talked dirty- and _especially_ if it involved praise. Laurens had grown to enjoy it too. After all, how often did Alexander leave him flustered and at a loss for words? How could he deny any opportunity to do the same?

“That’s right… that’s right, there you go baby, just breathe and take it,” Laurens praised, finally feeling Alexander starting to relax slightly around him. The body was curling in a little less, Alexander letting his head fall back again against the bed as he let out a low whine. “You’re so damn hot inside. You think you can take more for me?”

“Y-yeah,” Alexander agreed, breath hitching as Laurens used the hand on his leg to lift it, pressing it back until the calf came over his shoulder. It shifted the man's hips, let him press in deeper, and he could see the emotions flickering over the man's face at the change in sensation. 

He slowed, just barely rocking his hips and running a hand up and down the thigh soothingly. “That okay? Too much?”

Alexander shook his head, even letting out a small laugh. “I’m okay, Jack, I promise. I’m not going to break,” The man reassured him, and the hand that had been clenched in the sheets let go and moved up to rest overtop Laurens. “It’s just… it’s a bit different than me just using a finger.”

“I know it is,” Laurens smiled, turning his hand so that their fingers could interlace as he resumed the gentle thrusts. “You’re handling it so well.”

The hand squeezed his at the praise, and Laurens squeezed it back, kissing the side of the knee. He shifted, changing the pace and the slight angle of the thrusts until Alexander shuddered and swore. “There- right there, Jack, please,”

He didn’t hesitate to obey, panting with exertion and unable to tear his eyes from the sight below him. It was clear he had found that perfect angle, Alexander’s eyes turning glazed and unfocused, swearing and moaning now with every thrust. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Alex, you know that? You look so fucking good like this,” Laurens practically growled down at him, other hand grabbing the mans second leg and bringing it up on his other shoulder. He could tell the position was having an effect on the man- not just in terms of letting Laurens thrust even harder against the abused bundle of nerves, but in the feeling of being nearly doubled over and pinned down against the mattress. The backs of the man's thighs were pressed up against Laurens chest, trembling and tight, their interlinked hands still grasped- 

Jesus fuck he wasn’t going to last long like this. 

Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was the only one. Alexander was writhing underneath him, unable to get any leverage with the position, and grabbing at Laurens with his free hand. “Jack- fuck, _fuck,_ Jackie please, _harder-”_

Laurens cut off the keening cry with his own lips, a mess of tongue and teeth and muffled noises before Alexander was tensing, clutching onto him and tightening- _fuck_

He swore his vision went white as he came, only aware of the tight heat that seemed to encompass his entire existence, and the hand that clung to his own. 

Eventually, his vision returned, his thrusts slowing until coming to a stop completely, still buried inside of Alexander. Their foreheads were pressed against each other, damp with hair sticking to each other as they pant and tried to catch their breath. It took a minute for him to realize his arms were practically shaking with the exertion of holding himself over Alexander, and reluctantly, he slid back and out of the man so that he could lay next to him with a groan. 

Alexander had groaned as well as he had been unfolded from his bent-in-two position, limp on the bed and still trembling with small aftershocks. The man looked absolutely debauched, and breathtaking in it, and Laurens couldn’t help but smile and reach out to brush some hair behind the mans ear. “Thank you, Alex.”

The words managed to catch the man's attention, head turning with some effort to look at Laurens. “Thank you?”

“For trusting yourself to me,” Laurens clarified. Their hands only now loosely held each others, but he lifted them up, kissing Alexander’s knuckles and smiling. “You were amazing.”

Alexander snorted. “You say that like I didn’t get anything out of it.”

“I know you did,” Laurens teased, glancing down at the cooling puddle of spend on Alexander’s abdomen. But he looked up again, expression softening, warmer. “But, still… you were wonderful.”

The man looked both pleased and uncomfortable at the praise, flushing. “I’m just gonna,” He started, wincing as he sat up and no doubt felt the _shifting_ inside of him. “Uh, go clean up.”

Laurens managed to keep from laughing as Alexander stood up and half waddled, half speed-walked to the bathroom, cursing out loud about how cold the floor was. Now that they weren’t fucking- the winter chill was making itself _very_ apparent again. Laurens shifted, sitting up so that he could pull aside the blankets and slide in underneath. 

Not even a minute had passed before Alexander was crawling in after him. “You need a fireplace in your bedroom too,” The man griped, practically shivering as he slid closer and almost wrapped himself around Laurens. 

“And let you replace me as your bed warmer? What use would you have for me then?” He teased, smiling and wrapping his arms around the immigrant. Though still warm, he could feel the surface chill that had settled into the mans skin in the short venture from the bed. 

“I can think of a few things,” Alexander responded wryly, placing a kiss on his jawline and reaching around to grab at Laurens ass. “You supply the fireplace, I’ll bring the firewood for you to handle.”

Laurens groaned. “That was fucking awful.”  
  
“Yeah, you love it,” Alexander shot back, before yawning, relaxing a bit as he finally seemed to warm up under the blankets and pressed against him.

Laurens let the man drift off, head on his chest and arm wrapped around him. “Yeah,” He finally admitted to no one, knowing the even breaths meant his companion was sleeping. “Yeah, I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Merry Christmas update fuckers! Editing for this one went smoothly, so I figured, why not? Had a lot of fun writing this chapter too, probably one of my favorites so far. 
> 
> For the record, there's not really any evidence the real Hercules Mulligan designed the outfits of the Corsicans (later renamed the Hearts of Oak). I just couldn't deny including everyone's favorite tailor.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and loved <3 Please feel free to drop a hello on Tumblr as well- my username there is the same as it is here.


	4. You'll be Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Fic is marked for violence being described- and this chapter will contain an explicit description of drowning.

It was April 23rd when it all really started.

The first couple of knocks that had woken him almost seemed like a mistake. Laurens groggily opened his eyes, disoriented as he woke and tried to discern if the noise had been imagined or real.

“Fuck em’, they’ll go away,” Alexander mumbled against his shoulder, the warm body curled against his back underneath the covers.

Then the knock came again, firmer and louder this time, and Laurens reluctantly moved out of Alexander’s arms to swing his legs off of the bed. He was waking up quickly- he had visitors sometimes, yes, but people didn’t just drop by without notice or arranging it first. 

And he had a naked man in his bed. 

Laurens swore, wide awake now and quickly grabbing at the discarded clothes from the night before as he dressed. “Just a minute,” He shouted, hoping his voice was loud enough to reach the front door as he pulled up the trousers and frantically tucked in the shirt, before hissing at Alexander. “I don’t know who that is, man, so put your clothes on and _hide_.”

Alexander was not a morning person- the man had trouble going to sleep, never willing to put down his work it seemed. But when he finally laid down, it was like his body tried to recuperate all of the lost hours. There was a groan from where the man had rolled face-down into a pillow. After a second though he was dragging himself up as well, muttering swear words as he leaned over to grope around for his clothes. 

The other was only just getting his shirt over his head by the time Laurens was buttoning up his waistcoat. The front door banged again, and Laurens felt his heart in his throat. “I’ll close the bedroom door- be ready to go out the window if you hear us coming,” He warned. 

He got a grunt in reply as he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Laurens took a minute to stand there, taking a deep breath and trying to compose himself before striding to the door. 

“C’mon, man, open up,” The familiar voice said irritably on the other side just as Laurens hand landed on the door knob, and the sight of Hercules and Lafayette when he opened it flooded him with relief. 

“Jesus _Christ_ you two nearly gave me a heart attack-,” He breathed, only to let out an irritable, “Hey!” as he was all but shoved past so the two could come inside, Lafayette murmuring a quiet and strained greeting in passing. 

“It’s almost noon, are you just now waking up?” Hercules questioned, closing the door after glancing behind them suspiciously. 

“I was up late last night,” Laurens defended himself, frowning. “The Committee was talking about how we get more people on board with the boycott- you ever tried to get sixty people to agree on _anything?”_

Hercules grunted in acknowledgement. “Whatever- doesn’t matter now,” He said dismissively, walking deeper into the house. “Hamilton, I know you’re here too, get out. Big shit’s going down.”

Laurens flushed slightly- were they that obvious? How had Hercules known? “What do you-?”

His question was cut off with a polite clearing of the throat from Lafayette. When he glanced over, the French man gave a small, coy smile and tapped at his own neck.

His cheeks only got darker, hand quickly coming up to slap over his neck. In his hurry he hadn’t bothered putting on his cravat… and he now distinctly remembered the bruised marks in the mirror when he had been getting ready for bed the night before. 

Neither of the men seemed to care though- Hercules hadn’t glanced twice at him, seeming more concerned with impatiently drumming his fingers against the table top. A few seconds later, the bedroom door opened, Alexander buttoning his own waistcoat and looking between the two of them irritably. “The hell’s going on?”

“The British attacked,” Lafayette said simply.

The irritation was gone almost immediately from Alexander’s face, the man looking shocked as he stared at Lafayette. 

Laurens hadn’t realized he had been staring in disbelief too until Hercules spoke, dragging his attention away from the French man. “Few days ago, bunch’a troops showed up in Lexington,” The man grunted, leaning now against the table as he looked between Alexander and Laurens. “They tried to take their guns- and shots were fired. Militia retreated to Concord, and the British followed. They managed to move most of the arms ‘fore they got there, but then the British started a fire. People are thinkin’ they were gonna torch the town.”

“Holy shit,” Alexander breathed, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Lafayette nodded grimly, hands held together behind his back, continuing where Hercules had left off. “They drove the King’s men back to Lexington, then Menetomy and Cambridge.”

 _That_ seemed to perk Alexander’s spirits, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. “We managed to drive them back?”

“That’s right,” Despite the grim reality of what this battle meant, Hercules smirked a bit, almost sounding smug. “Sent ‘em runnin’ all the way back to Charleston with their tails between their legs.”

“That’s great news,” Laurens exclaimed, unable to help grinning and the excitement stirring in his chest. “Lotta folks argued there was no way we could fight the King and win- once this gets around, people are gonna start taking to the streets.”

Rather than matching his excitement, however, Alexander now hesitated and… looked worried. Eyebrows drawn in concern- the same expression the man got on nights that he couldn’t sleep, even with Laurens trying to coax him back to bed. “How many people here already know?” The immigrant asked, looking at Hercules.

“Pretty much half the city, if not all of it by now,” The man sighed, uncrossing his arms and placing them on the table's edge. 

“And?” 

Hercules didn’t answer Alexander’s pressing question right away, drawing his lips into a tight line of consideration. “Some of the Sons are out right now rilin’ people up, some tryin to organize. I gotta keep my head down. You guys know the tailor I’m trainin’ under is a big-time loyalist.”

Which was true- honestly, Laurens had been amazed that Alexander was even allowed to stay and live with Hercules above the shop with how… _loud_ about his opinions he could be. It had made a bit more sense when Hercules had explained that Alexander was essentially banned from the shop during the day when the two men might interact.

“Besides,” Hercules scowled now, glaring away from them as he gripped the table. “You know how it is. I go out there now and get involved- just another violent negro that should have been kept in chains.”

There was a collective, solemn nod of understanding at the words, Laurens grin having fallen away at this point. He knew the man was right. It didn’t matter to people that Hercules had been born free- it was what they saw that mattered to them. Whatever confirmed their own personal biases. 

White, or light skinned men, rioting in the streets to get their way? Revolutionaries. 

But if Hercules, or even Lafayette, did? Laurens didn’t even want to think of the vile stereotypes and words that would be hurled at them.

“You don’t want to be out there right now anyway, people just want an excuse to be idiots,” Hamilton finally said, shaking his head, and looking determined now. “If we want this to stick, we gotta do it right.”

“How do you propose?” Lafayette questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

Laurens could practically see the gears working as the man spoke, seeming to plan even as the words left his mouth. “Lafayette, you’ve worked with the Corsicans. We should start rounding everyone up- bring ‘em down to the armory at City Hall, and clear out any muskets, bayonetts, the works. We don’t want to leave it around for British to take if they try to do the same here,” Hamilton ordered, looking next to Hercules. “I know you need to lay low, man. But do you know anything about where the Sons are making noise?”

“All over the city- but I heard a few say they were meetin’ outside Kings College.”

The mans eyes widened a fraction in understanding. _“Fuck ,”_ Hamilton swore, immediately standing up and turning away, still talking to them over his shoulder as he went to the bedroom. “I need to get down there. The president of the college is another loud-mouthed _fucking_ loyalist-” There was another string of swears, “God damnit- Laurens, where the hell did you throw my neck tie?”

Laurens felt his cheeks turn hot, steadfastly not making eye contact with Hercules as the man snorted, and trying to ignore Lafayette’s muffled snicker. “It’s, uh,” He cleared his throat, trying to force the words out. “Probably still tied to the bedpost, Alex.”

There was a pause, Alexander probably looking behind the pillows, before making a noise that Laurens knew meant he had found it. By the time the man walked out again, talking once more, his collar had been popped up and the white cloth was being tied on mindlessly. “If I’m lucky, people are just worked up and we can direct some of them to something useful. Like actually joining and serving in a militia instead of just raising holy hell.”

“And if they do not listen, mon ami?”

“Talk long enough that Mr. Cooper can sneak away,” Hamilton snorted. “Don’t agree with the man- he’s a damned idiot. But if people start a blood bath, it’s just going to turn into a cycle of violence. He doesn’t deserve to die for it.”

Finishing tying the knot of the cravat, Hamilton paused to reach into his pocket and toss Lauren’s neckerchief to him, which he caught easily enough. The man must have grabbed it from the floor while he was looking for his own. “So I take it I’m helpin’ out Lafayette? Or am I backin’ you up?”

He figured the question was more for formality than anything, that naturally, Alexander would want him at his side. Then Hamilton was hesitating, before saying, “Actually, I think you should go re-gather the Committee. Get everyone on the same page and-”

“The _fuck? "_

Hamilton almost winced, but kept talking. “-planning on what to do next. We’ll only get anything done if we can make sure our officials aren’t trying to turn a blind eye, they need to be ready for the next steps-”

“The next _step_ for me is figuring out where I’m needed on the ground, not fuckin’ playin’ politics,” Laurens snapped, stepping forward and ignoring the shared glance between Hercules and Lafayette. “I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for months now-”

“They’ll actually _listen_ to you, damnit John-”

“Don’t you fucking ‘John’ me-”

They were practically toe to toe, voices raised now to a yell, when their friends finally stepped in. Hercules was grabbing Hamilton, pulling him off to the side, and Laurens felt Lafayette’s arm around his shoulders forcibly turning him away. _“/Come on, my friend, now’s not the time to fight with each other./”_

 _“/Then maybe he shouldn’t be side-lining me like everyone else does,/”_ Laurens hissed back in rough French, too upset to care about how badly he may be butchering the pronunciation. _“/Who the fuck does he think he is./”_

 _“/He has a point though,/”_ Lafayette reminded him, removing his arm from the shoulder to let Laurens pace angrily once Hercules and Hamilton had been moved to the other room. _“/He is not saying you can never fight, my dear. But of the four of us, you have much more sway with those in positions of power./”_

Laurens scoffed, not looking at Lafayette and instead glaring at the ground as he paced. _“/My_ **_father_ ** _has sway with those people- I just have his name./”_

 _“/Then that is already more than our Alexander and Hercules have, and you know that,/”_ The soft words shut Laurens up, but didn’t stop the pacing, so Lafayette continued. _“/We may know how smart and hard working they are- but, some men of this country care more about heritage and good breeding, than they do intelligent minds./”_

Laurens finally came to a stop, still scowling and hands tightly clasped behind his back. _“/It’s just…/”_

Lafayette smiled, a hand coming to rest on Laurens shoulder and giving it a squeeze. _“/I understand- you wish to stand in arms next to your lover, not pushing paper with men who have nothing better to do than run their mouths./_ ”

He felt his cheeks turn a bit hot once more at having Alexander called his _lover_ . But there was something a bit more… acceptable about it when it was said in French. Like it was a secret. _“/It’s just… I left England to come here and fight,/”_ Laurens finally huffed, frustrated and unclasping his hands from behind his back to instead shove them in his pockets. _“/I want to actually_ **_do_ ** _something./”_

 _“/And just for now, this is the best way,/”_ Lafayette reassured, in that bright, optimistic way that the man just always seemed to exude. _“/Our little lion, you know he does not have the highest opinion of men, just wants to keep this opportunity from turning into anarchy. If we do this right, our militias will have the ability to form a proper army. Then you can fight to your heart's content./”_

His lips had drawn into a tight line, but reluctantly, he sighed. “Fine, fine,” He grumbled. “I get it. Play my part now, till there’s actually a real fight to join.”

“That is the spirits,” Lafayette said brightly, grinning as he slung an arm around Laurens shoulder again. “Now let us go- there is much work to complete, mon ami.”

* * *

It was quiet between them that night. There was no sex, no kissing- simply arms wrapped around each other in the dark, Alexander’s forehead pressed against his chest. Lauren’s fingers lightly played and threaded through the man's hair, his own eyes closed as he listened to his breathing. Could hear the multiple times that Alexander paused, trying to find the right combination of words to say. 

“We’re going to fight together John.”

“I know, Alexander.”

“I promise. They’re not going to know what hit them.”

“Alex?” There was a shifting in his arms as the man glanced up at him, and Laurens sighed before kissing him on the forehead. “Shut up. I know.”

Eventually they fell asleep, Laurens wondering how many times they would have nights of peace like this again in the coming months.

* * *

Laurens rubbed at his eyes as he looked down at the paper in front of him, sighing and placing the quill down. 

It wasn’t like he was a _bad_ writer... At least when he actually tried. Unfortunately, growing up with his father and the education he had, he was quite familiar with having to craft letters and words that could satisfy a mans ego enough to make an agreement. The wheelings and dealings that came with trading one thing for another, about having to give something away just to get selfish men to do the right thing. 

He could maybe bear it easier if it was _just_ playing politics with his fathers friends. It was just he didn’t want to be back _home_ while he had to do it. 

Since the battles at Lexington and Concord, it seemed like he had been on the road constantly. Travelling back and forth between New York, Philadelphia and South Carolina, only usually staying for maybe two weeks at a time, playing messenger between the different committees and congress’s. 

At least when he was in New York, he could spend some of that time with Alexander…

A faint smile came to his face, looking up and out the window at the trees outside. Their visits were probably the one bright point over the last few months- no matter how short. Since the war had started, Alexander was busier than ever, even with Kings College having been shut down in the unrest. The man had befriended his old math professor, and often wrote to Laurens about the man helping him with his trigonometry studies. 

Of course Alexander would study even when he wasn’t obligated to for class. Laurens knew full well how insatiable he was in _all_ aspects of his life. 

But it had paid off. Within months of the fight, his Hamilton had been promoted and was leading their band of volunteer militia men. Even with only writing, Laurens could imagine how proud the man sounded as he had shared the news in his last letter, the pride of being recognized for his ambition and intelligence.

Then there were other letters that Laurens would receive from him that would turn his ears red. Those were hidden under a loose floorboard in his bedroom, or packed away carefully concealed with his things as he travelled, so that he would have something he could read during the night when he was alone in his bed.

“Jack, letters for you!”

The voice of his younger brother snapped him out of his reverie, and he leaned back in his chair just in time for Jemmy to burst into the room. 

Thank goodness he had only been thinking of Alexander in passing… it took some time to adjust to the lack of privacy one received at being home again. “Thanks, Jemmy,” He said gratefully, taking the letters that were enthusiastically handed to him. “These just arrive?”

“Yeah- I saw the postman coming through the window,” The boy grinned, looking out of breath from where he had likely come running up the stairs to deliver them. 

“How am I supposed to believe you’re actually studying like you’re supposed to, if you’re noticing every person that walks by outside?” Laurens asked, raising an eyebrow.

Immediately his younger brother groaned. “I’ve been studying all _day_ ,” He whined. “French is boring anyway. Can’t I go outside for a bit?”

He pursed his lips, seeming to debate it over. His father was out for the day (thankfully), and the nursemaid off shopping with Patsy and Polly, so he had been left to watch over his two brothers. Which really meant making sure they didn’t cause _too_ much trouble while he wrote his letters and propositions. Only when Jemmy seemed to be fidgeting in impatience did he finally smile. “Alright, just for an hour though, then back to your books. Make sure you take Harry with you.”

Jemmy grinned again, lunging forward to give Laurens a hug and a quick agreement before racing outside again, calling for his older brother. 

Laurens shook his head, smiling a bit. Seeing his siblings was probably the one enjoyable part of his travelling. Finally he looked down at the letters, flipping through them. Some were expected- a letter from his wife, two from friends he had left behind in Geneva, a few from men he negotiated with in New York and Philadelphia…

And of course, three more from Alexander. 

His lips twitched slightly in amusement. The man was never the type to do something in half-measures, that was for sure. 

The first letter that he opened nearly made Laurens choke on the sip of water he had taken, and he quickly placed it aside to read later that night when he would have some proper privacy. The second letter bore no real news- instead, sharing a drinking story of troubles that him and Hercules has gotten up into, talks about plans for the next time that Laurens was with them, a wish that he would write back as often as Alexander wrote him.

“Some of us require sleep, Alex,” Laurens murmured to himself, shaking his head slightly with a quiet laugh as he reread it to himself before putting it to the side as well, opening the third. He glanced up before he started, smiling at the sight of his two brothers playing out in the back yard within view of the desks window that he worked at, then back down at the letter.

_My dearest, John,_

_We have had our first taste of real battle since this began. Our militia was recently contacted by John Lamb in regards to plans that could tip the scale in the favor of our city. A fine man. I’m sure you have seen him, as he has drilled with us before, and through Hercules I know he is also a Son. I believe he was also one of the men that seized arms from the armory with Lafayette, if memory serves me correctly?_

_Don’t be alarmed if I seem to praise him- it is his actions and plans I admire, and not his person. Should I speak too highly of someone else with you so far away, I just might stoke envy in your heart, and receive fewer letters than I already do. I am a man of words, after all, and what better way to punish me than to deprive me of yours?_

_I digress- what matters is the plot that we hatched. You see, the King only has one of his warships here in our waters, so we knew now was the time to get the upper hand before inevitably reinforcements arrive from across the sea. All of us from the HoO, and even some SoL joined us in raiding the Fort. You remember Fort George, down on the southern tip of Manhattan, in the Battery?_

_Now I know what you’re thinking- I am safe and uninjured. I also apologize that we could not wait until you were here to join us. I’m sure you will at least be relieved to know that I had a friend at my side in Hercules. In the dark of the night, it is easier for him to maintain anonymity alongside us._

_The ship fired on us, of course. How I wish I could have been there to see their faces when they finally investigated the Fort. We were able to successfully steal twenty one of their twenty four cannons, and even caused some damage to their ship firing back._

_We unfortunately lost two good men who did not understand how to use the artillery. When I eventually got home and looked at my face in the mirror, I believe it was likely their blood that painted my own with how close I was. Any closer and I likely would have been the third casualty, if I am honest. While I am not afraid to die for our freedom- it was jarring to think I may die before I carve out a name for myself._

_But, I am on my way to that goal. News of our victory is spreading fast- and I believe it may even reach you before this letter. While I have received no (further) promotions as of yet, I have no doubt I’ll have a chance again to prove myself worthy of a command position other than that of a volunteer. With these cannons, we have landed a victory for our city, and valuable aid in defending our island from whatever ships the King see’s fit to send._

_I hope that you will be back here soon- so that you can share a toast and celebrate with us. Perhaps we may find time to celebrate in other ways? I’ve been complimented on my handling of a cannon long before this battle, after all._

_Your most endearing friend,_

_Alexander Hamilton_

Laurens reread the letter again, then closed his eyes. He had walked that downtown area of the Battery a few times when he still lived in New York, and could almost imagine it. A dark night, the men at his side no more than shadowed silhouettes as they broke into the Battery. The smell of gunpowder, the deep and echoing _boom_ of firing cannons that rattled through ones bones, adrenaline hot and ecstatic through his veins and the taste of blood and sea on his lips… 

And here he was, having to sit on his ass and parry with words against men that were more willing to open their mouth to support the fight than their wallets. 

He wished he had been there too. But, he sighed, pushing aside the letter he _had_ been working on and pulling out a new piece of parchment. The previous letters chiding about his lack of responses was a good motivator to simply write back now rather than push it off, and he picked up his quill to compose a reply. 

A yell from outside startled him before he could begin, looking up in time to see a blur falling through tree branches- and he heard the _crack_ even from inside as his brother hit the ground. 

* * *

_My dear Alexander,_

_I am sorry I have not written sooner. I trust you’ll forgive me, as I don’t have many words._

_You remember Jemmy? I have spoken of him often._ ~~ _I am afraid he has_~~ ~~_I am sorry to say_~~ ~~_He was under my_~~

_He has passed. Head injury-- he fell while trying to leap from a branch of our tree to the second floor landing. The doctor did everything in his power, but there is not much one can do to heal a cracked skull. He hung on for a day, and could manage a few words._

_While I hope to see you again soon,_ ~~_it may be some time_ ~~ _I am not sure when I shall return. I intend to stay for the funeral. My brothers were supposed to be under my care that day- and until he is buried properly, I can’t believe that task is done ~~as if I have not already fai~~ _

_I will travel again to New York as early as I can. Please take care of yourself. I don’t think I can bear to hear of the death of another I hold dear._

_Yours,_

_John Laurens._

* * *

“May I sit?”

Laurens glanced at his father, before nodding and looking away again. 

There was a minute of silence as the man settled down onto the seat next to him, leaning back against the back of the wooden bench in the garden. It was cold that day. The wind carried with it the reminder that it was nearly November, and that winter would be on them soon. A milder winter than what he experienced in New York, sure. But for some reason, it felt like it had already settled deep in his bones. 

“I think we should discuss how you’ve chosen to handle thse past few weeks.”

He didn’t reply, hands folded in his lap as he looked out over their backyard. 

Laurens could feel the weight of his fathers gaze on him, including when it shifted away. “You have spent enough time blaming yourself, Jack,” The man sighed, the words heavy and hanging in the air between them. “He was under your care- but what happened was a tragic accident, not malicious negligence.”

“I could have stopped him,” Laurens finally said, looking down at his hands. The pad of his thumb rubbed at the back of the other, stroking the skin there. Jemmy’s hand had seemed so much smaller than his when he had held it. “They were right outside my window playing. If I just looked up- I would have seen…”

He trailed off again, throat tightening and making him swallow. 

Laurens hadn’t been able to bring himself to cry- not after the fall, not while rushing his brother to the nearest doctor, not while he had watched over Jemmy as he lay dying… even at the funeral, his cheeks remained dry. He just felt numb, really. 

“Unfortunately, God has seen fit to take much from our family,” His father’s voice was somber. “You know how many your mother and I lost.” 

He did. He barely even remembered some of their names at this point. 

“Your mother loved every one of you dearly, but it was more difficult for her than it was for me,” Henry continued, voice weary, but steady. “I never blamed her for tragedy- but, she always dwelled on what could have been different, rather than trying to find reason in God’s plan. What else she could have done so that your siblings could have had the chance to grow as you have.” There was a long moment, before Henry added. “You’ve always had much in common with her…”

Laurens didn’t think of his mother much anymore. He had answered questions for his siblings- as the oldest, he had had the most time with her before she had died. He had wanted to make sure that Jemmy and Harry would have some idea of how sweet she had been, how much she had worked and sacrificed for them.

Minutes passed by in silence between them- and after a long while, his father stood to his feet again, only for Laurens to finally choke out, “I’m sorry.”

Henry Laurens didn’t say anything at first- but when he did speak, there was a note of resignation. “I know you are… It’s painful. But it is you, and my children that are still alive, who’s welfare concerns me. We may not always see eye to eye…” Henry trailed off, shifting his weight ever so slightly to favor his bad leg, the only tell that gave away how little his father wanted to discuss this with him. Comfort had never been his fathers forte. Finally though, seeming to have considered his words over, he cleared his throat. “But I’m proud of the man you’ve become, and I know you will take your responsibility more seriously going forward”

There was the uncomfortable moment of silence after the declaration, Henry folding his hands behind his back before turning and walking away. Only once he had taken a few steps did Laurens finally lift his head to look at the retreating back of his father.

He wondered if he would have to wait until another of his siblings died to hear his father praise him again.

* * *

Laurens didn’t even think he had been in town for a full twenty four hours when the knock came at his door.

He paused in his unpacking, sighing and standing up to stretch and let his back crack and pop. The carriage he had taken from Charleston hadn’t arrived in New York until a little after the sun had set, and he had been so exhausted he had all but fallen into bed. Hell, he was lucky he had stripped out of his travelling clothes. 

But that meant everything he _should_ have unpacked the night before was still half-scattered across his room like a small storm had torn through. 

Whoever it was would at least likely be quick, and he cast one last frown at the bag as though _it_ was responsible for his troubles, before walking out of the bedroom. It couldn’t have been much later than six, yet the only light in the room was from the fireplace he had lit to warm the house, the winter season stealing away daylight hours as though the cold wasn’t enough to make them miserable. 

His breath caught when he opened the door. 

“Hey Laurens,” Alexander greeted, giving a hesitant smile as he removed his hat. “May I come in?”

It was only when the man asked that he was reminded that he was standing in the doorway, blocking his entry, and he quickly stepped to the side so that Alexander could enter and let the door close behind him. Laurens took it as a chance to drink in the sight of the West Indian- the way the tips of the man's ears and cheeks were reddened from the bitter bite of cold air outside, the cautious darting of eyes as Alexander made sure they were alone, lest he say something in the wrong company. 

Of course, the man was never the type to stay quiet for long. “Hope you don’t mind me poppin’ by,” He immediately started, hanging his hat on a stand with a familiar ease that betrayed how often he came by. “I was walking home last night when I saw a light from the window- figured you had just gotten back, so I wanted to give you a day to recover.” Laurens knew that there was no regular route that Alexander took that passed him by Laurens place. That the man must have been going out of his way to walk past. “How was your trip- I mean, the journey here, I know you wrote me about…” The man seemed to catch himself, verbally fumbling for only a second, before trying to change subjects with a false ease. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while. I was actually going to send another letter tomorrow-”

Alexander’s concerned rambling was cut off with a surprised noise when Laurens dragged the man into a kiss, tense for a moment before relaxing against him.

When they broke again, Alexander grinned up at him, seeming much more at ease. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

He wished he had a quip back ready on his tongue- but it was Alexander who had always been better at that. Laurens had always been more of a man of action… and seeing Alexander in front of him, almost the same as when he had left all those months ago, before-

The second kiss was a bit more desperate, hands practically fumbling in his attempt to shed the man of his winter coat. Alexander caught on quickly, discarding his gloves and shrugging his shoulders to help free himself of the material so it could drop to the floor. There was a rumbling laugh against Laurens lips when the man found himself stepped back and pressed against the door, turning his head so he could break the kiss and tease, “Hey, hey, I ain’t goin’ anywhere-”

“ _Please_ ,” The choked word gave Alexander pause, now looking up at Laurens in concern. And he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see the worry crease the man's brow, or answer questions, instead burying his face in the crook of his neck to kiss and trace the outline of the man's jaw. 

“John- John, hey-,” Laurens didn’t stop, if anything, pressing himself tighter against Alexander. The man was so warm, and solid, and running his hand up the waistcoat he could feel the man's heartbeat when his palm was on his chest, “Just, wait- _Jack. Stop._ ”

He finally did stop moving, though he didn’t pull back, hands curling into the man's shirt. He didn’t even realize he was shaking until one hand had come over top of his on Alexander’s chest. “Hey, it’s okay…” The man murmured, the other hand coming up and wrapping around him to rub at his back. “What’s goin’ on?”

Fuck, he didn’t want to be thinking about this. Laurens closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the man's shoulder as he tried to say _something_ that could get around the stone that felt lodged in his throat. “I just…” 

He trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say? That for those three months all he had wanted to do was hold Alexander again and know that he was safe? That his bed had felt so empty it felt like a piece of him was missing? That he had nightmares of holding Jemmy’s hand as he convulsed on the doctors bed, seizing- and sometimes that hand would change, and he would watch his Alexander struggling for life instead? That he could still hear the crack of his brothers skull, and just as easily imagine it as the cracking shot of a musket? That those words from Alexander’s letter haunted his days in Charleston? _Any closer and I likely would have been the third casualty-_

“I just need to know you’re alive too,” Was finally all he could get out, voice hoarse as he clung to Alexander, knowing even as he said it that the words made no logical sense. He didn’t want to pull back. He didn’t want to separate from the reassuring, warmth of life that emanated off of the man. Didn’t want to risk it turning cold if he let go.

There wasn’t anything said for a minute- and when Alexander shifted, Laurens was worried for a moment that he was going to pull away. Instead though, the man only made enough room to pull Laurens hand up, kissing it. “I’m alive, and I’m right here with you,” Alexander reassured- and there was an understanding in the tone of voice that almost made his knees weak with relief. “And I’ll be here all night with you if you’ll have me… assuming we’re somewhere more comfortable than your front door.”

The words drew a weak, muffled laugh from him, and he could feel Alexander smile against the side of his head. Finally, reluctantly, he lifted his head and pulled away slightly, allowing Alexander enough freedom to move past. 

Their hands never unlinked- and Laurens trailed after him obediently as the man led him past the fireplace to the bedroom on the other side. The room was darker, lit only by a few candles he had placed around strategically while he unpacked, but it was enough. 

“Sit,” Alexander ordered, firmly using his grip on Laurens hand to guide him onto the edge of the bed, and moving to that space between his legs, still standing. Alexander’s eyes met his, and nothing happened for a moment as Laurens simply stared up. A dark, warm caramel brown that seemed endless, so encompassing that every time he was caught in their gaze it felt like he was drowning

Like he was drowning… a common analogy, yet so strange to use, considering how excruciating it truly was.

Laurens had nearly drowned, once, when he was young. His mother and father had brought them all to the beach- and he hadn’t heeded their warnings not to go out too far. 

There had been a sense of panic, at first. A desperate urge to right himself. The waves had been forceful for their size, and it had caught him off guard how easily his legs had been swept out from underneath him until his head was already underwater. His legs had kicked, frantically trying to regain his footing, and his arms sweeping at his side to bring him to what he hoped was the surface. The ocean had had him head over heels, over and over and back again with every wave that had crashed over him.

He could never seem to break the surface though. There had been absolute denial when he had finally opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to breath. A knowledge that his head was still underwater but that he _just couldn’t hold it any longer_ , that he had to do _something_ -

Then the water. Burning, salty ocean flooding his nose and mouth, like liquid fire that choked him and made his throat seize. He remembered the pressure in his chest as he had tried to expel the water- each attempt at exhaling only resulting in him breathing in more. How heavy it had made him. There was no describing what it felt like to have something other than air in your lungs, a weight when there should be none, dragging him down until his vision swam and blurred. 

It was so silent underwater- you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

The last thing he had remembered before waking on the sand had been strong arms grabbing him, and the distant feeling of acceptance. A calmness that this was how he died.

No one was here though to drag him out of the water as he reached up to trail his fingers along the man's cheek. No one to save him from that tumultuous fight inside that reminded him that each time he was with Alexander- he betrayed his fathers misplaced pride. The knowledge that he should pull away, resist, not so easily give in... Yet touching the man seemed impossible to ignore when they were together like this, and _God_ , Laurens needed it almost as bad as he needed to breathe-

Alexander watched patiently as Laurens trembling fingers untied the cravat and tossed it away. His hands moved slower now, wanting to commit to memory all the little details. The missing third button of the waistcoat- it had been replaced with one that was similar, but this close, Laurens could see it wasn’t exact. Could imagine Alexander apologizing to Hercules that he needed yet another repair. The way the man's lips would curl at the corner at the playful banter that would result. There was another patch that had been made where the shoulder connected to the sleeve- perhaps ripped during a drill with his men? 

And as the waistcoat was pushed off completely, there was a small inkstain on the shirt just over his right hip. 

His fingers lingered there. A tiny black smudge. Too fine to be an accidental spill from an inkpot- perhaps a drip from a quill end, late at night in nothing but his undershirt? Laurens could see the man as though he had been there himself, leaning back and considering the message that he penned. The unguarded expression that his Alexander wore when he was alone with his words, looking down at that parchment with the same tenderness that he now looked down at Laurens with...

His hands clenched again in the shirt, throat seizing with the rush of emotion. “Alex-,”

Lips pressed against his own, quieting him, and Laurens let his eyes close as Alexander undressed him in turn. The man's palms were slightly rough, a hint of the hard lifestyle growing up that Laurens had only heard snippets of. Larger and firmer than a woman’s when they grabbed at his hips, yet, achingly tender as thumb pads traced the edge of his pants.

He allowed his trousers to be taken from him, then his shirt. The material coming off overhead broke their kiss, and Laurens panted as he caught his breath, looking up again into the hungry eyes. He felt bared, stripped and exposed, manhood already swollen and aching in need.

Why could he never say no to this? Was he so weak? Even if women would never excite him- he could always go, leave now. Accept that denying himself this was his cross to bear, instead of always giving in....

Alexander lay a hand on the inside of his thigh. “May I…?”

“Please,” Laurens breathed.

The man was sinking to his knees in front of him, and Laurens felt his legs instinctively spread slightly wider in response. The blood that travelled south as lips and teeth worked along the insides of his thighs nearly made him dizzy, and he braced his hands behind him.

His eyes had closed again as fingers found their way between his legs as well. He could only assume Alexander had come prepared with his own oil hidden in a pocket somewhere, as Laurens hadn’t unpacked his own yet. 

Such a small thing. 

Did Alexander even understand? The significance that came with just being able to… assume? To know that the answer would always be yes, so long as it was him that asked? 

His breath hitched as a finger pressed in at the same time that Alexander’s tongue ran up the underside of his need. Could feel the fine tickle of facial hair on the chin that brushed in passing- the flick of the wet muscle at the tip before tracing along the curve of the head. A year they had known each other now- and every movement, every touch betrayed that knowledge of his body. The flat of the tongue that lapped underside before following the slit-

He wanted to praise him. Wanted to hold him, worship him, wanted to tell Alexander how good he was at this- god, he would give away his entire inheritance if he could only have the words to explain to the man how utterly capable he was of destroying Laurens. Lips stretched, head sinking and swallowing and his toes curled as he cried out, a hand shooting immediately to tangle in the silken hair. 

There were two fingers inside him now, steady and confident as they curled and stroked and spread- “ _Alex_ , god, Alex- just,” His hands pulled at the man's hair, wrecking what had once been a ponytail as he begged. “I can’t- please, I can’t-”

 _I can’t breathe_.

Alexander pulled back, gasping slightly before looking up at Laurens, concern in those brown eyes. Drowning. “Are you sure?”

 **_I can’t breathe_ **.

He had to do _something-_

Laurens all but dragged Alexander up onto the bed next to him, not that the man fought him. There was no protest at all in fact. Instead, as Laurens swung his legs to straddle Alexander’s lap, the man gazed up at him with a sort of awed reverence that he now recognized from outside the bar when they had first met. Hands came to rest on his hips- lightly, not directing him but steadying in their presence. 

“Jack…”

He kept one hand on Alexander’s shoulder to brace himself. The other reached down to line the man up (already slick from where the man had no doubt been stroking himself while tending to Laurens), and he eased down.

Laurens breath hitched, inhaling sharply as the man sunk inside him. He could feel that he had rushed the preparation, could feel that it had been months since he had had something of this size in him, and it _burned_. God it stung and burned and he breathed through it- breathed and let more inside him, sunk deeper-

Alexander’s head tucked against his shoulder, chest to chest, he wasn’t sure who began moving first. Laurens rocked on top of him, clinging to each other as he rose and fell, Alexander's hips rising to meet his each time as best they could. 

Laurens let out a low, breathy moan. His own length was trapped between them, Alexander’s cock all but _dragging_ against his prostate with each forceful press of their bodies, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him. “God- fuck, god, Alex, I can’t…”

One hand remained on his hip, tight, practically pulling at Laurens now each time Alexander rolled up into him. The other arm had wrapped around, nails scratching at Laurens shoulder blade as he held him close, groaning and panting frantic words into his skin. “God, Jackie, I missed you so much. You feel so good. You feel so fuckin good, I…”

Laurens fought to say something, _anything_ in response- but it was too much, too fast. It felt like he could barely speak, could barely tell up from down, left from right, right from wrong, head over heels, over and over again every time he met this man, head over heels _for_ this man-

 _I can’t love you_.

His thighs ached and trembled with exertion, burning- pressure building low in his abdomen and spreading through him like liquid fire. Laurens was gasping for air, but it felt like he couldn’t get enough- could never _possibly_ get enough. Blood pounded in his ears in time with his racing heartbeat. Alexander was hot around him, surrounding him, inside of him, and heat burned and pricked at the corners of his eyes-

**_I can’t love you._ **

Lips captured his as he came- and Laurens breathed Alexander in.

* * *

In the end, it was Alexander that said those three impossible words first. 

They were breathed against his ear, no louder than a whisper, a hesitating concession, and Laurens felt a warmth wash over him and come to rest in his chest. When he returned the confession, steady arms wrapped tight around him. 

Laurens last thought before accepting the peaceful surrender of sleep, was that while drowning was an excruciating way to die, he would be okay with it. So long as it meant ending up here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switch gays? In MY fanfic? More likely than you might think!
> 
> For real though, while there are pairings I like to imagine as exclusively top/bottom dynamics, I also love giving them the ability to switch because... why not? Pleasure is pleasure my dog. 
> 
> Fun fact! It's said that when a revolutionary mob arrived at Myles Cooper's doorstep at Kings College, it was our dear Alex that delayed them with a length speech and gave Mr. Cooper a chance to escape. Also fun fact! There's no way in fucking hell I'm translating all that conversation between Lafayette and John to French. Besides- personal preference, but when it's full conversations like that? I never want to scroll all the way to the bottom to look at the translation. 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the final scene in it, because apparently I really like to hurt myself with words. Thank you to My_Deer_Friend for all the help in understanding/conveying a more accurate sense of Henry Laurens <3 Jemmy Laurens, one of John's younger brothers, actually did die of a head injury from falling on September 5th, 1775, but when he was staying in England. John was in charge of finding another school for him, and had been away when Jemmy fell trying to reach the landing outside of John's window.
> 
> Kudo's, and especially comments, are always loved and appreciated <3


	5. Right Hand Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the previous chapter, italicized speech between /'s is meant to convey French I'm too lazy to translate.
> 
> Please be aware this chapter contains brief fantasies of sexual activities that can be construed as non-consensual, or at the very least, dubious consent.

“The man did not back from the challenge-”

“Back down,” Laurens corrected.

Lafayette frowned at the book that rested between them. _“/There is no mention of direction- why would you mention ‘down’?/”_

“It’s a prepositional verb,” Laurens explained, leaning back in his seat as he considered the best way to explain it. Learning grammar had been one thing, growing up, because it was what he had always known. Trying to teach it to someone of another language was another thing entirely. 

He supposed he was lucky that Lafayette was intelligent enough to pick it up quickly, even after only a year and a half of learning. “You chose the verb right- but the preposition just helps establish the meaning. To ‘back up’ from a challenge may imply you physically moved away, but haven’t surrendered. To ‘back down’ implies that you are no longer challenging them. Sort of like the difference earlier between look in, look on, look to, and look for.”

The reference to their earlier discussion seemed to light some understanding in the man's eyes. “Ah, yes, merci beaucoup, that makes sense,” Lafayette glanced back at the French text, seeming to consider the new knowledge. “When would I know to use ‘down’ or ‘up’, for this?”

“Wish I could give a straight answer, but a lot of it is experience,” Laurens admitted.

Lafayette glanced over at him, a mischievous smile on his lips and teasing. “I do not think I would look _to_ you for a _straight_ answer, monsieur.”

Laurens stiffened, instinctively glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. Luckily they were mostly alone in the pub. It was still early afternoon, and those that _were_ there seemed more concerned focusing on their own responsibilities than eavesdropping on English lessons. 

The Frenchman immediately seemed to realize his mistake. _“/Ah, I’m sorry my friend,/”_ He quickly apologized, switching back to French so their conversation could be private. _“/I saw the opportunity to joke with a play on words- and didn’t think before I spoke./”_

 _“/It’s fine,/”_ Laurens lied, shifting in his seat as he tried to relax and turn his attention back to the lessons. _“/We’re just in public, so I’d rather not talk about it./”_

Lafayette pouted slightly at that, leaning an elbow on the table. _“/You never want to talk about it, public or private,/”_ The man sighed dramatically. _“/Romance is my heritage, my dear- you cannot deny me forever. Have I not earned your trust as a friend?/”_

“Of course you have,” Laurens protested, before hesitating and switching back to French. He knew none of the people currently in the pub spoke the language, yet he still found himself lowering his voice. _“/What’s there to talk about, anyway?/”_

 _“/What is there not to talk about?/”_ Lafayette immediately answered, lowering his voice as well, but with the teasing urging of a schoolboy trying to cajole someone into sharing a secret. _“/Any person with eyes can tell our little Lion is enamored with you- you can’t tell me his love starts and ends between the sheets./”_

Laurens swore he felt his ears redden at the boldness of the statement, eyes flickering around them in paranoia again that the wrong ears would overhear. _“/No, no, of course not,/”_ He mumbled, picking at the cuff of his jacket. _“/I just… don’t know what you want to hear. This isn’t exactly the kind of thing you just_ **_talk_ ** _about over here.”_

He swore he saw a glimmer of pity in Lafayette’s eyes- but it was gone as quick as it had come as the man tried to ease the conversation out of him. _“/Well, what do you two do together when you are not in bed? You two spend far too much time with each other for it all to be spent lovemaking./”_

 _“/Because some of that has to be used for sleep/,”_ Laurens reminded the man in exasperation. Getting his Alexander to actually go to sleep was a different conversation. _“/He has cooked for me, a few times. Dishes that he says would taste better with ingredients from his home- though I tell him I can’t miss what I’ve never had… Usually he’s working when we’re together if I’m honest./”_

Lafayette made a tutting noise. _“/Unacceptable. I will have to speak to him-/”_

“No, nope, you’re not talking to him about anything,” Laurens quickly cut off, spluttering in embarrassment at the idea of Lafayette going to Alexander to chide him. Like he was some maiden that wasn’t being courted properly. _“/He does_ **_plenty_ ** _/”_ He finally insisted, firmly, before hesitating and admitting. _“/_ **_I’m_ ** _the one that worries I am not doing enough. He crafts me poems, compliments me in more ways than should be possible, and sends more letters than I could ever hope to respond to when I’m away. But I don’t have his way with words- and he doesn’t like when I buy him gifts…/”_

“Non?”

 _“/He’s said he doesn’t need ‘charity’,/”_ Laurens sighed. 

Lafayette looked confused. _“/Why would he believe it’s charity? You know him, it’s not like he’s a stranger begging on the streets./”_

Laurens snorted. _“/Believe me, I’ve told him. And it’s not like my family’s wealth is going to be bankrupted if I buy a few new quills for him,/”_ He complained. After a moment though he huffed an irritated breath through his nose and quietly added, _“/It’s frustrating, you know? With Kings college closed, he’s not getting his scholarship money anymore. He hasn’t complained about it… but I know he’s struggling. I just wish he’d let me help./”_

The man gave him a sympathetic smile. _“/He is a prideful one, so I suppose it makes sense,/”_ Lafayette agreed, patting Lauren’s arm in understanding. _“/Perhaps for a special occasion, yes? Then he may see it for the gift that it is, rather than one of pity./”_

 _“/Perhaps,/”_ Laurens agreed, before heaving a sigh and smiling slightly. _“/Thank you. I suppose I can see how it is helpful to talk about these things./”_

“It is,” Lafayette agreed, beaming back at him, before pulling his hand away and tapping the page of the book once more. “Now- I am selfish, and require your excellent teaching skills, if I learn English.”

Laurens laughed, before nodding for the man to continue his translating, finding a relaxed smile had settled on his face that he couldn’t seem to be rid of.

* * *

It was only a few days later, that March, when he finally had the occasion. 

Alexander’s talents hadn’t taken long to be recognized. Twice, _twice_ the man had been made an offer to be an aide-de-camp to well known men of the newly raised continental army. The position with Williams Alexander had been especially tempting, and Laurens provided a listening ear for nights as Alex weighed the possibility of taking a chance and waiting for his own command, or potentially being one of the youngest majors in the army.

There was more security in the offered positions. They had no guarantee that the New York Provincial Congress would even _look_ at Hamilton’s candandency for artillery captain, even _with_ Jay and Livingston both vouching for his charm and skill. Laurens never said that part though. Just reassured and supported Alexander when the man finally made the decision to write back his rejection letters.

And the gamble paid off. 

There were benefits to this- the biggest being that when Laurens applied to join the artillery company, to _finally_ be in a position to fight and do something, his acceptance was almost instantaneous. No more having to write letters day in and day out to try to make a change. No more expecting to play politics.

The second benefit was the ability to teasingly refer to Alexander as his ‘captain’ in private. The man would flush, would huff and tell him to knock it off- but there was no hiding the little smile that would result, telling Laurens how desperately the title pleased him.

Laurens was the first one Alexander had gone to with the news. 

The first person Laurens went to, was Hercules. 

“Are they closed?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t open them yet.”

“I don’t have to open them to recognize this path,” Alexander teased, hands in front of himself tentatively as Laurens guided him from the front door deeper into his place. They were still dressed from their day guarding the provincial records (waiting for yet another round of wagons to return and remove the documents from the city, a task that could bore to tears). The most Laurens had allowed was the removal of his boots when they had entered, the stockinged feet moving quietly over the wood floors. “I’m curious how after two years of knowing each other- you plan on surprising me.”

Laurens only let out an agreeing hum, knowing better than to rise to the challenge. “If you walk as fast as you talk, you’ll find out sooner.” 

He shifted Alexander slightly to the left to avoid kicking a chair in passing, stopping the man just as he reached the foot of the bed. He could see the grin on the man's face even from where he was behind him, looking for all intents and purposes like the cat that had caught the canary. 

Laurens couldn’t help but smirk a bit as he pressed up against the man's back, hands sliding down the man's side to rest on his hips. “I want you to strip for me,” He purred, getting a little shiver from Alexander as his breath ghosted along the man's ear. “Down to your stockings. No peeking.”

There was a noticeable hitch in Alexander’s breathing, and Laurens had to keep himself from laughing at how eagerly the man was shrugging off the coat. He grabbed it before it could hit the floor, draping it over one arm and watching admiringly as the layers of clothes came off. There was no hesitance in the man's actions, only very _clear_ excitement. 

“Should have known you would ‘rise up’ to the challenge,” Laurens teased, moving to Alexander's side so he could run a finger along the inner V of the man's hip, close but not quite touching the arousal that tried to rise up to meet him.

“I suppose I admire a man who can take command,” Alexander returned slyly, shivering slightly at the touch before biting his lip. 

Laurens hummed, pulling back and placing the shed clothes off to the side while Alexander waited. The head had turned slightly, angling his ear towards Laurens as though to track his movement as he shifted on his feet. It wasn’t cold, but he could see where goosebumps had risen on the man's arms.

“Put this on.”

The closed-eyes expression of nervous excitement morphed into confusion at what was handed to him. “What is this?”

“A shirt. Now come on, what was that about enjoying ‘commands’?”

It took everything he had not to laugh at the look of genuine bafflement on Alexander’s face, and as the shirt was pulled on, Laurens knew the only reason he was quiet was because he didn’t know _which_ question to ask first. “And these.”

Now a frown joined the baffled expression. “I prefer the surprises that have less pants…” Alexander complained half-heartedly, though he seemed to pause when he realized he didn’t recognize the texture of the pair in his hands. Still, however, the man obediently bent down and stepped into the britches, only grunting slightly as he buttoned them up and back over the erection, and when Laurens handed him a waistcoat next, he begrudgingly put that on as well. 

Laurens stepped in front of him now, bringing the man's collar up and re-tying the cravat. “Almost done.”

“With _what?_ Preparing me to go back outside?”

“You’ll see,” Was all Laurens would give him, placing his hand on his shoulders again as he directed the hopelessly confused man to stand in front of the mirror. “One last thing.”

Alexander seemed to understand, obediently moving his arms to allow Laurens to slide on the coat. Laurens stayed behind him, moving closer so he could wrap his arms around Alexander and straighten out the front. He paused, taking the chance to smile at the reflection of the two of them, at the sight of Alex in his arms as though embraced, before stepping back. “Alright. Open your eyes.”

The first thing the eyes did when they opened was meet his in the mirror. Then, they flickered back to themselves as the man took in his own reflection. Laurens watched with a small smile as the hands lifted up, touching at the rich blue coat tentatively, mouth slightly parting in surprise. “John, what….” Alexander started, then trailed off, looking away from the mirror and down at himself as though the reflection may be lying. 

“If you’re going to be a captain, you should dress the part.”

Alexander's fingers stopped tracing the buffed cuffs, looking up at Laurens warm smile in the mirror. “John- I can’t, this is too much,” The man immediately started, finally turning around to face him. Laurens could practically _hear_ the man's thoughts going a mile a minute with calculations. “These would have- _fuck,_ all of this must have cost you a fortune-”

“Hercules cut me a deal,” Laurens lied. Not that Hercules _wouldn’t,_ but it wasn’t like Laurens family was tight on money, and he would rather their friend be paid like he deserved. 

That didn’t seem to ease the man though, Alexander’s lips pulling in a tight line. “It’s still too much. Let me- I can pay you back.”

Laurens wanted to ask what _money_ the man planned on paying him back with… but he knew Alexander well enough to know the statement would only be taken as a challenge. “Maybe you should consider that it’s not just a gift for you.”

 _That_ caught him off guard. “What?”

He smirked, stepping forward so there was no more than a centimeter between them. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you in a uniform,” Laurens murmured, tracing down the edge of the blue coat. “ _Captain_ Hamilton.”

The approach clearly wasn’t one that the man was expecting- but Laurens would have had to be blind to miss the flicker of interest and the small swallow. “Y-yeah?”

Laurens hummed in agreement. His hands had slipped underneath the blue coat, tracing the edge of the white, buckskin pants. “You know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you when you wore your old militia uniform,” His hips pressed forward, pleased to feel that Alexander had regained the interest from before, and more. “I never said you had to wear this uniform out after all. Maybe I just got it for you to wear for me.”

“Hell of an investment just to wear in the bedroom…” Alexander mumbled, but the protests were losing their edge. 

He kneeled, sliding his hands down the man's thighs as he did so and sending a silent thanks to Hercules for truly getting the measurements _exactly_ right. He may have to insist on buying their next round as a tip. “Then wear it outside too, Alex.”

“But then it’s…” Alexander trailed off above him, one hand coming to rest on top of Laurens head, fingers lacing in the curls. Even without looking up at him, Laurens could _feel_ the desperate gaze on him, watching his hands make quick work of the front of the trousers. 

Laurens hummed encouragingly, pulling the pants down just enough to liberate his prize. “Let me take care of you, Captain.”

The groan that fell from Alexander's lips was absolutely _filthy_ as Laurens dragged his tongue up the underside. One hand stayed holding Alexander’s thigh, and he wrapped the other around the root of the man's arousal to steady it as he lapped again lazily at the head. 

Honestly, he didn’t think he would ever tire of this. Every little hitch and stutter of breath was like music to his ears, and under his grip he could feel the muscles strain as his Alex struggled not to let his hips jerk forward, especially when Laurens finally let his lips part and wrap around the head. “Jack- fuck, Jack,” The man was pleading with him now, both hands in his hair now and giving little, encouraging tugs. Not hard, but enough that it pulled with a pleasant burn at his scalp, and he delighted at the keening whine when he sucked and ran his tongue along the slit without taking more in.

And he kept Alexander there. Pulled back to suck and lick up and down the swollen shaft, let his teeth graze in that just so slightly threatening way that always made the man hiss in approval, swirled his tongue around the ridge and moaned with every bit of precum that Laurens lapped up. The hands in his hair grew more desperate, tightening and scrabbling at him, wordlessly _begging_ him to take more.

Laurens squeezed his index and thumb around the base when he felt the man's cock throb threateningly, getting a genuine whine of desperation when he pulled back from where he had been suckling on the head. “What do you want?” 

Alexander's eyes were wild when they opened again, looking down at Laurens helplessly as he panted for air. “I want to come, please, Jack,” He begged, hips twitching forward as though trying to follow him. “I need you.”

He licked again, catching the precum that threatened to drip from the tip, but didn’t take him into his mouth again. “Need what?”

Another broken noise of desperation, but Laurens firm grip kept him from following. “Your- your mouth.”

Laurens hummed, loosening the hold on the base to give a firm, slow stroke up the shaft before going still. “I need something from you first.”

“Anything,” Alexander said immediately, frantic. “Anything you want, Jackie, just name it. I’d give you the world.”

His week of avoiding time alone with Alexander was working perfectly. “You’re going to promise you won’t try to pay me back for the clothes,” Laurens murmured, giving another little lick before smirking up at him. “And you’re going to keep them.”

The dark eyes flashed in sudden understanding. “You son of a…” He spluttered, indignant, yet looking for all the world like he may fall apart at any minute as he fought opposing desires. 

He raised an eyebrow, letting Alexander struggle over the decision for a few heartbeats before shrugging and loosening his grip, as though making to stand up. “Alrigh-”

 _“No,_ no, no, please- I promise,” The response was _immediate,_ voice pitched and panicked at the idea of Laurens stopping, hands tightening in his hair. “I won’t try to pay you back- I just, please, Jack, don’t stop!”

“There you go, baby. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Laurens teased, letting his hand stroke teasingly up and down again.

Alexander looked ready to snap back at him- but could only let out a broken moan as Laurens swallowed him down. And when Laurens let the man's cock keep sliding in, taking him to the root, pushing past that resistance of the back of his throat, that moan trailed off into an overwhelmed wail. There weren’t anymore coherent sentences after that- just wretched pleas and sobs of _Jack,_ and _more_ and _don’t stop_ and Laurens moaned in delight as the man spent down his throat, hot and pulsing and heavy.

There was an oversensitized whimper when Laurens finally pulled back, letting his tongue and lips drag along every centimeter of the way. When he glanced up, he smiled a bit, enjoying the sight of his Alex, barely standing and looking absolutely _wrecked_ , despite being almost completely dressed still. While he loved the sight of the man naked… he would be lying if he said that he didn’t look just as good in the rich blue and white of the uniform.

A hand had loosened in his hair, lazily stroking the curls as the man came-to. “That was a dirty trick,” Alexander finally spoke, still sounding like he was trying to pull himself together. 

“It worked though,” Laurens hummed, closing his eyes and leaning into the hand.

Alexander chuckled quietly at that. “Yeah, suppose it did.”

* * *

The July air was thick, humid and tension filled as Laurens stood atop the earthen hill and stood watch over the water, Lafayette at his side. 

“Two ships, from what I see,” Lafayette acknowledged.

“Out of how many?”

“Almost three sixties, if the counts are believed.”

Laurens swallowed, unable to even bring himself to correct Lafayette’s English. There had barely been room for mirth in the last two weeks. Not when they could look out at the ocean and see what seemed to be the whole of Britain afloat at their doorstep. 

The one bright point had been that evening of the 9th- the group of them pressed shoulder to shoulder against each other in the crowded commons, listening in awe as Washington himself read the Declaration of Independence that had been signed just days earlier. It was hard not to get caught up in the swelling of hope the words had brought, the belief that they could do this. They had drunk heavily that night, singing loudly and often as they celebrated the birth of their country, about the history that had been made. 

Perhaps drunk a bit too much.

Without even looking behind him, he could feel Hamilton stalk past them, snapping sharp orders to some men nearby. To anyone else, he was sure it looked like normal tension at an oncoming battle.

Laurens knew better though- had spent hours helping Alexander frantically search for the lost purse. Had checked the bar, spoken with every person they could remember to see if they had perhaps seen it or heard of it being found, tore apart both Lauren’s house _and_ Alexander’s room where he stayed with Hercules, pulled every pocket inside out. 

It didn’t matter the victory the man had won, penning the New York Provincial Congress until they had agreed to pay his men more funds. Not when the purse with those funds had been lost by his own hand. 

He couldn’t think of a single other time he had seen the man so upset. Alexander understood the true value of money in a way Lauren’s didn’t think he ever could- and when thought turned to the effect the loss would have on his reputation...

“They’ll think I stole it, Laurens,” The man had all but yelled, a faint accent creeping into his voice, one Laurens so rarely heard, pulling at his hair as he had paced the floor. “Can fucking hear them now. Once yon vòlè estipid, _always_ yon vòlè estipid, fatra zile!”

While the words had straddled that line, French-adjacent, Laurens hadn’t needed to know the exact translation to understand the meaning of the spat slurs. “No one is going to accuse you of stealing,” He had insisted firmly. “It was an honest accident-”

Hamilton had spun on him. “You don’t _get_ it- it’s what people _expect_ of me,” He had snapped. _“You_ have a family, a reputation, status! People expect the best of you, and make excuses for your mistakes. A bastard orphan like me?” The man barked out a bitter, pained laugh as he had turned away. “I won’t repeat what is expected- it’s too vile even for your ears, John. But let’s just say that it is my best that is treated as the mistake.”

It was like pulling back a curtain- Laurens could see that skittish, flighty immigrant that had first walked into the bar with Burr so long ago. He could recognize now the way the untrusting eyes had watched them, _waiting_ for their opinions to turn on him.

There was exactly one person who dared to try to imply Alexander had done anything unsavory with the missing coin purse. Laurens had seized the man by his waist coat and slammed him against the fort wall, his blood nearly boiling as he had made it clear in no uncertain terms that if he _ever_ repeated a baseless accusation like that again about their Captain, that Laurens was the one he’d be answering to.

Honestly, he was just impressed that he had kept himself from punching the man right there and then. 

He was grateful that Alex hadn’t been around to hear the accusation, knowing how all it took was one man's words to either spur or plague the West Indian. Laurens never brought up the incident, and Alex finally seemed to calm down once he saw that almost all of the men in his command believed him, believed that he had their best interests at heart, and trusted him. 

That didn’t mean that the man's anger at himself had dissipated however, expression battle hungry, and looking all too ready to have an enemy to channel his wrath towards. 

“Laurens, Lafayette,” As though having been summoned by Laurens thoughts, Hamilton strode up to them, glaring out at the ships that approached. “I want you two with Bean, Yates, Thompson and Sanders. Once they’re within range, I want us firing with everything we have. You’ll hear my order once I’ve determined they’re close enough.”

Laurens followed the man's gaze. “What do you believe their plan is?”

“Inconvenience and divert,” Lafayette had immediately interjected, hands folded behind his back. When Laurens and Hamilton both glanced at him for explanation, he shrugged. “It is as I would- this river, she connects to Tarrytown, non? Many supplies travel from New England by her route.”

The plan made sense, and Hamilton let out a quiet swear beside him. Laurens glanced over, watching Hamilton, almost able to hear the racing thoughts. “The General already doesn’t have all the men he planned, we can’t let them cut us off from supplies too.”

“Then get up to where you need to be, we’ll wait for your orders,” Laurens reassured. His fingers itched- wanting to reach out, to give a steadying pat on the shoulder, to ease the tension with touch that came so easily to them in private.

But this was Hamilton- not his Alex. The second side of the same coin. The part that Laurens had no claim to. And the best way Laurens could support Hamilton was by stepping up as his right hand man, and backing up whatever plans he had.

Hamilton nodded in response, but even without words, Laurens saw the glimmer of thanks in the man's eyes before he turned away.

* * *

Laurens would have thought, considering the nature of his life, he would have been used to how quickly things could fall apart. 

When he had wiped at the blood and shit on his face with his hand, ears still ringing from the explosion of the cannon closest to their own, he distantly realized that this was the feeling that Alexander described in his letter all those months ago. An awareness of how close death had been- still was, technically, as injured and dying men screamed and howled from their injuries. His ears pounded, his heart raced, and his body trembled, inflamed with adrenaline. An eerie sort of calm came with it.

All those thoughts, fears, the worries that seemed to plague him day in and out were just… gone. 

They lost that battle. 

The ships sailed on. 

Alexander cleaned the remains of their fellow soldier off his face that night. Laurens consoled him in turn. A cannon misfire, from what could be gathered- nothing that could be prevented.

August 8th, orders came from General Washington that they were to guard Manhattan, positioned in Bayards Hill. Day and night they remained stationed, Laurens at Hamilton's right hand, always an arms length apart with their company. Alexander confessed his hesitations and doubts to Laurens only at night, his worry that the General was making a mistake splitting their forces as he had. 

Bayard’s Hill was the highest point of the city. The morning of August 27th dawned with clear skies, bright and beautiful, and they watched in silence the thousands of troops ferried onto Staten Island. Reminiscent of a red ant hill that had been kicked, swarming to the north east and overtaking Brooklyn. The sounds of battle could be heard even in Manhattan as the British cut and divided the city up. 

The army retreated to Manhattan, then even deeper into Harlem Heights. Hamilton and their company maintained their guard, even when news came of the invasion of Kip’s Bay, separating them from the rest of their allies. 

They remained. 

Henry Knox had given them their orders, and as Hamilton rallied them to prepare for what may be their last battle, Laurens wondered distantly if this was it for them. That if they would die before the war had truly even started. Lafayette stood guard as Laurens had desperately pulled his Alex into a dark and forgotten room, wanting one more chance to unravel the man before whatever was to come. 

But for all the surprises the past month had brought- the fact that their saving grace would arrive in the form of Aaron Burr was the _last_ thing that Laurens had expected.

“Mr. Burr, sir!” Hamilton’s face had gone through a range of emotions as he had walked out with Laurens to greet the arrival, the lines of the man's face easing in the first grin in weeks. “It’s good to see you again.”

Aaron had that polite smile that he always did. “I wish it was in better circumstances, Alexander,” He said grimly, but still shaking the man's hand, then Laurens.

The grin faded, reminded this wasn’t a familiar, smoky bar surrounded by friends- and Hamilton’s lips pulled into a thin line. “We’re making the most of it, sir,” He said immediately, standing up straighter. “My men have been ready to fight since the start of this.”

“Well they may have the chance to,” Aaron passed the reins of the horse he had ridden to another soldier, allowing it to be taken away to be cared for as he continued to speak. “We move out in two hours time.”

“Excuse me?”

“His excellency has given an order for an evacuation of all troops from New York,” Aaron explained, folding his arms behind his back. “I’ve been sent by General Putnam to escort you and your men to join us before we head up to Harlem. We’ll need your help in defending the rear.”

Aaron was smart to word the order as he had. Laurens could only imagine the indignation if Hamilton thought they were here to be ‘rescued’. 

The man still balked however, spluttering. “We need more than two hours, Burr,” He finally demanded, gesturing back at the fort. “We have nineteen cannons, and not enough horses-”

“Leave them.” Aaron quickly lifted a hand, stopping Hamilton before he could raise royal hell. “There’s not enough time, and they’ll slow us down.”

Laurens could see the frustration in Hamilton’s eyes, the way his shoulders came up, hackles raised like an angry cat. He knew the frustration wasn’t with Aaron alone. Hamilton was an artillery captain- without artillery, he was just another soldier. To have gone through all those efforts months ago to steal the cannons, just to abandon them, only made the sting that much more prominent. 

“Let us have three.” 

Aaron looked at him now, as though having forgotten Laurens was there. “Why-”

“Most of them are heavy, but we have a few that are lightweights,” Laurens explained quickly, hand resting on his scabbard as he scraped together the excuse. Alexander was better at this kind of bargaining than he was. “They’ll be of use later, and we have enough horses to pull three. We’ll need all the firepower we can get.”

There was a flicker of irritation in the dark man's eyes, even from behind the polite smile. “I understand, but there’s too many things that could go wrong. Every minute we waste-”

“Exactly, every minute we waste,” Hamilton immediately interrupted, jumping in on the conversation. “So let’s stop talking about it and _do_ it.”

Aaron’s body language had got impossibly tighter, all rigid lines as he debated engaging in this. Laurens knew he just needed one last push. 

“I feel I should remind you we have been on guard for almost a month now, with no one around for Captain Hamilton to argue with,” Laurens warned, raising an eyebrow.

The aide-de-camp’s eyes widened a fraction in understanding, especially at the excited, vaguely foreboding grin that had crept onto Hamilton’s face. “Fine, fine,” Aaron finally relented, seeming to be aware of when to pick his battles, before reminding them sternly. “Two hours. Have your men pack as lightly as possible.”

As Aaron walked away, Laurens snuck a small smirk over at the man beside him. Alexander met the glance with his own, and they exchanged small fist bumps before they hurried inside to prepare. 

* * *

_“Fire! Fire!”_

Laurens brought up his left hand, covering his ear as the cannon beside him cracked and released another cloud of smoke around them. He couldn’t even bring himself to cough anymore- throat dry and ashy, and only made more raw by each chilling breath of the late November air he drew in.

Immediately he set to worming the barrel, his arms burning with exertion as he lifted the heavy tool and cleaned out any old debris that may have still been inside. He had barely pulled out the tool before Yates was immediately shoving the damp sponge in. 

How long had they been at this now? Hours? It seemed neverending, and even between the firings of the artillery, his bones rattled with vibration. 

He set to drying out the inside of the barrel. 

Hercules had been right. 

Which wasn't surprising- what _was_ surprising had been having the man stumble into their camp in the middle of the night (he was lucky he hadn’t been shot). There had been joy at the reunion, the four of them exchanging repeated hugs, punching shoulders, and exchanging news of time passed.

Laurens didn’t even look up as a familiar hand passed him the round of grapeshot- the man at his side disappearing as quickly as he came to join Thompson in aiming their next shot. He slid in the round, and Yates set to ramming it to place.

Hercules had told them all about his brief arrest on the accusation of helping the revolutionaries, and his release for ‘good behavior’, so long as he had promised not to leave the city. They had laughed at that.

_“Fire!”_

Laurens covered his ear and leaned back- then picked up the wormer once more. Cold sweat prickled at his face.

Hercules had even managed to convince the tailor he apprenticed under that it was just a misunderstanding. Though how much of that was from believing Hercules, and how much of that was because the man wanted cheap labor under the guise of ‘apprenticeship’, remained to be seen. 

Since the British occupation of New York however, Hercules main clientele had become the soldiers themselves. Most didn’t even realize that he was an apprentice- and spoke carelessly, freely, seeming to assume ‘the slave’ was just well taken care of (and therefore loyal) to the master tailor. Hercules did nothing to convince them otherwise. Just smiled, chatting and making conversation while taking measurements and orders, laying on that same disarming charm that had led to Laurens losing so many games of chess before he wised up. 

Clean any moisture with the dry sponge. A brush of Alexander’s hand against his gloved one with the next round. Load the grapeshot in the barrel. Cover his ears, and lean back.

 _“Fire!_ ”

“I need to get goin’,” Hercules had finally said, looking between the three of them. “Most don’t give me a second glance- think I’m someone’s slave doin’ errands. But they’ll notice if I’m missin’ for more than a day or two.”

“You can stay- fight with us, here,” Alexander had tried to offer immediately, smile disappearing, as though it hadn’t occurred to him that the reunion was temporary.

Hercules had only shaken his head before standing with a grunt. “I can do more good there- I don’t think you realize how loose-lipped these Brits are,” He explained. “I just came to warn you- they know about Washington’s encampment. You got a few thousand headin’ this way, plannin’ on crossing the Raritan.”

Immediately the air turned heavy, a grim reminder of their situation. That there was still a war. The loss of New York still burned fresh. “How long?”

“I’d give you seven, maybe eight days.”

 _“Fire!_ ”

Worm the barrel. Clean with the dry sponge. Alexander’s hand brushing his glove. Load grapeshot. Cover ears, lean back.

Laurens breathed in smoke- eyes watering, throat burning.

“À la prochaine, bon courage,” Lafayette’s voice had been somber despite the smile, patting Hercules on the back when he had pulled back from the hug. “Be safe, mon ami.”

“I think I’m the one that’s supposed to be telling _you_ three to be safe,” Hercules had laughed, pulling Laurens into a hug next. The man was strong- stronger than any of them, built like a horse it seemed. Yet his embraces, however brief, had always carried with them a feeling of security and home. 

_“Fire!”_

Worm barrel. Clean moisture. Alex’s hand. Grapeshot. Cover ears. Lean.

Everything ached as they continued to fire on the British across the river, keeping the enemy at bay as Washington’s men disassembled the bridge for them to cross. They only had two guns left in their company- the third had broken down, and Hamilton and him had all but dragged the last two to Harlem after their horses had been shot, all while still defending the rear as Burr had asked them to.

 _Six pounder guns my fucking ass_ , was the only thought that managed to break through the haze of smoke and burning muscle. 

_“Fire!_ ”

Worm. Clean. Alex. Grapeshot. Cover. Lean.

Their little camp had felt so empty after Hercules had left. But Hamilton and Lafayette had soon pulled out their map to strategize by candlelight, discussing what to do with the new information, while Laurens sat silently. 

The three of them shared a flask- and if they noticed that he nursed it for perhaps a bit longer than they did, they were merciful enough not to point it out. 

_“Fire!_ ”

Worm, clean, Alex-

The lack of a hand meeting his finally broke Laurens out of his trance, glancing at the empty space next to him where Hamilton should have been passing off the next round of grapeshot to him.

It only took a moment for him to spot where Hamilton had gone. The man stood close, one hand resting on the barrel of the cannon as he read over a note that had been brought to him by a courier, cocked hat shrouding his eyes from view. 

Laurens could see the smile before the man lifted his head though, a triumphant grin on his face as he had patted the cannon like a fond dog. It was a breathtaking sight- his Alexander, still so young, yet standing there amongst the fog of the cannons with victory lighting his eyes. “The bridge has been cleared! Let’s move out, men.”

Pulling off his glove, he fumbled in his pocket for his watch, glancing down at the time. Seven hours… seven hours of non-stop firing. But, for the first time since the arrival of British reinforcements, he felt a flicker of hope.

* * *

“You need to rest.”

“I’m _fine,_ we need to be preparing for tomorrow-”

“Lafayette and I are taking care of it,” Laurens said firmly, putting a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and all but pushing the man back down into the bed. The fact that there wasn’t much of a fight spoke to how unwell he truly was. “You’re not getting out of this bed unless you have to.”

Alexander glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best, face damp with sweat yet still somehow shivering despite the bitter bite of the winter air. The cough had settled in shortly after they had defended their positioning of the Raritan bridge. They had written it off at first as irritation from the smoke of the artillery- after all, they had _all_ been coughing for a bit after that. 

But whereas the rest of them had improved, Alexander’s had only gotten worse. A week later Laurens had gone to fetch him for breakfast and found the man looking like death warmed over- pale and lethargic, and absolutely burning to the touch. 

Lafayette and he had stepped in quickly to take over any duties that would have given Alexander reason to leave his bed, and a few times, Laurens had had to essentially confiscate the portable desk and quill from the man. He was sure Alexander wouldn’t have allowed it if it would have been anyone else.

“If I haven’t died yet, I’m not going to die now,” Alexander argued, moving his glare away from Laurens to the tented ceiling. “The worst of it is over. If anything I grow weaker just sitting here day and night doing nothing.”

Laurens heaved an annoyed exhale of his own. They had had this argument almost every day this past week, and he had even found himself feeling a renewed sense of sympathy for those who had garnered the man's ire in the past. He glanced towards the entrance of the tent, hesitating before moving his hand down to take Alex’s in his own. “I won’t stop you from fighting, Alex. But if you don’t let yourself heal, you’ll only prolong it,” He murmured, stroking the back of the man's hand with his thumb. “And I’d wish to see you well sooner.”

Alexander hadn’t looked back at him yet, but the irritation on the man's face had at least softened to resigned frustration. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“Just sitting here, doing fucking nothing…” Alexander let out a frustrated exhale, eyes closing and letting his head fall back onto the pillow. 

Minutes passed between them, Laurens holding Alexander’s hand, Alexander sulking in silence. It was clear the man wasn’t asleep… but honestly, just the fact that he wasn’t fighting to get out of the bed was good enough for him. Laurens gave the hand a final squeeze, making to stand so he could join Lafayette in preparing for the coming nighttime crossing-

Alexander’s own grip tightened, and when Laurens glanced back at him, he could see the man's mouth had pulled into a tight line. Slowly he sat back down, waiting quietly as Alex struggled to find what he wanted to say. 

“I just… whenever I’m sick, I feel like a kid again,” The man finally said, voice tight and weary, the eyes opening to look up at the tent ceiling once more. “I felt so useless- fuck, we could barely get out of bed to use the fucking bathroom.”

“We?”

“My mother and I,” Alexander’s voice cracked slightly, still not looking at him. “I don’t remember a lot. I was twelve, but the fever made it hard to focus. My brother took care of us best he could, but…”

There was a new heaviness to the air of the tent. Alexander never talked about his family… Laurens had asked. Knew that his mother had died, knew that Alexander had begun working younger than most. Knew that a storm had something to do with him leaving St. Croix behind for New York. But even the answers Laurens had gotten had been dodgy- hands fidgeting, looking askance, never elaborating and quick to change the subject. 

“Was that when…?”

“Yeah,” The word was choked out, Adam's apple bobbing as Alexander swallowed before adding softer, “She was holding me. James had gone to get food, and I just realized how quiet it was, y’know? I don’t- I’m not sure how long, or when she stopped…” Alex trailed off, jaw tight- but Laurens understood. 

“You don’t have to tell me anymore.” 

“I wanted to.”

Nothing more was said between them. Laurens knew it was too risky to lay down beside Alexander, not when anyone could walk through the tent. No matter how badly he wanted to hold the man in his arms. So he settled for sitting there, once more stroking the back of the mans hand until Alex's breathing had evened into a rhythm that almost seemed peaceful. 

* * *

_-since you have returned from Geneva. Your by-year has passed twice over now- and I would urge you to remember your duties and obligations as a worthy citizen. That the benefits of re-taking your schooling far outweigh risking your life on the front lines. If you should insist on pursuing this as your duty, then I am sure that with the correct letters of introduction, you could find a place with men of your standing. Though your penmanship still leaves much to be desired (I will not believe that your company travels so often you do not have time to make a legible copy), there are many generals that are in need of aides with your education and discipline-”_

Laurens put the letter aside in disgust, half debating even writing a response to this one. 

His father had sent letters non-stop it seemed since his decision to join Alexander’s company. They had been more tolerant at the start, growing slowly more chastising over time, bringing up names of universities that were still open- at one point suggesting that John was ‘ruining his future’ by avoiding his scholarly duties. 

But the letters had taken a more urgent tone after New York had been lost to General Howe. Perhaps because his father realized the war was real now, that Laurens wasn’t just ‘dressing up and playing soldier’ to avoid responsibility. This was the third time since November that his father had insisted it would be best for him to use his family connections to rise in the ranks, suggesting that Laurens would be more useful at a desk rather than fighting.

He snorted to himself, leaning back on his bedroll to glare up at the tent. The last thing he wanted was to be someone’s paperpusher, no matter how ‘illustrious’ the position was. At least here, beside Hamilton, it felt like they had actually _accomplished_ something. Writing letters could never replicate that excitement, that thrill of fighting. And after their overwhelming success at Trenton and Princeton earlier that week- what reason was there to withdraw?

The sound of the tent flap pulling aside made Laurens glance over, half expecting Lafayette returning to retire for the night- only to be greeted with a familiar grin. “Permission to enter, Laurens?”

“Like you’d listen if I said no,” He shot back good naturedly, foul mood easing as he waved a hand for Alexander to join him. “What’s up man? Take it the meeting wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

“You’re not going to believe it,” Alexander immediately was sitting on the ground beside Laurens, practically vibrating in his excitement. “General Washington offered me a position as his aide.”

Laurens sat up immediately. “What?”

“As aide-de-camp. _His_ aide. I’d actually be working directly with Washington,” Alex looked like he was going to go on- before seeming to notice something in Laurens face, his own excitement quickly tempered with caution. “What?”

“So you’d be travelling with him then, wouldn’t you?”

Laurens saw the flicker in Alexander’s eyes, and the way they glanced away made it clear that the man had already considered what accepting the position meant. “He’s looking for other aides- I recommended you and Lafayette, of course,” Alexander said quickly, not answering Laurens question directly. “Both of you know French, have an education and connections. I was going to write a letter to the Congress that Thompson would be best for taking my place-”

“But you don’t know for sure,” Laurens interrupted sharply, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice even if he had wanted to. His fathers letter- and now this? “I thought you said our place was fighting together- what happened to wanting a troop to command?”

Alexander’s grin was long-gone now. “I still do, John- but I can’t pass up an opportunity like this,” He argued, voice a mixture of affronted indignation and frustration. “This is _Washington._ And it’s not like I’d never fight again, if I prove myself, I’d be right there if he needed someone to take the lead.”

Of course Alex would have some excuse- he always did, and Laurens felt hot irritation crawl through him at the words. “So what, you turned down those other two aide positions because they didn’t have big enough names? Didn’t take you as the type to sell out to be someone’s paper bitch.”

Laurens wanted to take back the words the moment he had said them- there was no missing the flash of hurt before it was replaced with burning anger. _“Fuck_ you,” Alexander spat, standing to his feet. “Sorry I can’t afford to waste opportunities like you can, Laurens. Must be real nice up on your high horse, huh? Especially when all _you_ risk is having to live off your daddy’s coattails the rest of your life if you accomplish nothing.”

The words cut to his core- and of course they did. He _knew,_ often _enjoyed_ watching the man tear apart his opponents with nothing more than well placed insults. Him and Alex had argued before too, but it had never gotten this personal.

Before he could reply, Alexander was already storming out of the tent. 

Laurens felt untethered in that stretch of time- like a boat thrown about the waves of a storm, hurt and anger burning under his skin. All bruised ego and indignant fury, because _how dare he._ Laurens had never _asked_ to be born to the family he had been, had never demanded or expected the privilege his name brought him, had never tried to-

His fathers letters felt branded in the back of his mind. Henry Laurens voice almost as clear as his penned words, lecturing him on how taking his break from school would only lead him to a life of sloth living on one of their plantations-

He was on his feet in seconds, shoving past the startled Lafayette without apology and ignoring the query that followed behind him. The January air was still bitterly cold, but it felt almost refreshing with how inflamed he felt as he silently stormed through the otherwise sleeping camp to the furthest tent.

Laurens didn’t announce himself, or even give a greeting, merely shoving his way past the cloth flap into Alexander’s private tent, and coming to a stop as the livid eyes met his own.

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. But it didn’t seem that he needed to.

They met at the same time in the middle- frenzied and violent, all tongue and teeth, clawing at each other's clothes. Laurens was stronger though, larger, and there was a low snarl from Alexander as his hand gripped in the dark locks and yanked his head back, allowing him to roughly tear the cravat free with his hand and bite at the skin revealed.

This was risky. While it was late, and almost all of the men _should_ be asleep by now, Laurens hadn’t snuck to the tent. He could have been seen. If anyone decided to investigate-

Alexander’s goading voice broke through his moment of rationality. “All fucking talk, aren’t you? I’ve had women leave better marks-”

The strangled, pained noise he got in reply when he sunk his teeth in deeper was its own reward, and almost masked the bitter taste left behind by the words. They didn’t _talk_ about the other people that Alexander slept with. Not when they were alone. Not when it was just supposed to be the two of them- and the fact that the man would bring it up now meant he _knew_ how the words would hurt Laurens. 

They came to a jarring stop as the back of Alexander’s knees hit his cot. Laurens hadn’t even realized he had been pushing the man back as he had. Hands were scrabbling at the front of his trousers though, making Laurens hiss as a familiar hand pulled him free and squeezed, and he let go of Alexander’s hair to do the same. 

They didn’t even fully pull off their pants before Alexander was grabbing him and dragging him down onto the cot. It was small- meant for travelling, to be packed up easily, and the two of them already normally struggled to fit. Now Laurens couldn’t imagine falling off of it, not with the way that Alex grabbed and pulled at him, hips bucking-

Laurens wondered if he had been an afterthought. If the man had paused when Washington had made his offer, knowing that there was a chance that Laurens wouldn’t be able to join him, and still accepted. Or if Alexander hadn’t thought about him until he had already given his yes.

He wasn’t sure what hurt worse. 

Laurens had rolled them over, pinning the struggling West Indian below him as he used a hand to grab and stroke the two of them. It was rough, only slickened by their own pre-excitement, but it was perfect. Laurens bucked his hips into his hand, the cot creaking threatening beneath them and Alexander grunting and doing the same in response.

All the while, the man continued to growl biting insults at him. “Haven’t had to work hard a day in your life have you-”

He didn’t think he ever wanted to acknowledge the way that his arousal burned hotter with his temper. 

“Shut up,” Laurens snarled, his hand coming down tight over Alexander’s mouth, a shivering thrill shooting up his spine at the way the eyes flashed hotly in response. Felt that vicious excitement that came from being able to take away the man's speech from him, his cherished _words._ “Can’t you just shut up for _once_ in your fucking life?”

The man tried to say something from behind his hand- and he dug his fingers into the man's cheek as his palm muffled any coherency. Had a brief image of shutting Alexander up in other ways- of those furious eyes glaring up at him through tears as Laurens shoved his cock down his throat, of pulling the man by his hair and using that excuse-laden mouth for something _useful._

Nails down his back made him hiss- Alexander’s hands had found their way under his shirt somehow, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he found angry red welts the next day. The pain only throbbed through him however, twisting in its own parody of pleasure. 

He broke pace only so he could bring his other hand up and spit in it, before immediately returning to stroking them both again, faster this time. Laurens was so hard he ached, blood pounding in his ears as he ground down against Alexander. There was a pained noise behind his hand, but Alex was straining up against him as well, clawing at him with increased urgency.

Laurens bit the man's neck again- hard, and the body underneath his went stiff as release splattered between them. Only when Alexander began struggling again, this time from rapid overstimulation, did Laurens snarl his own climax against the man's pulse. 

He didn’t move right away. Laurens huffed heavy breaths of air against the crook of the marked neck, limbs heavy and leaden in the post-orgasmic haze, the fuel of his rage having burned out enough to feel the exhaustion of the long day. He would have been content to lay there for longer, but the hands that had been scratching at his back had changed, now pushing away at Laurens, and he let go of Alexander’s mouth for the man to hiss out, “Get the fuck off of me.”

Laurens rolled over, not leaving the cot, but laying beside Alexander. The immigrant refused to even look at him, glaring up at the ceiling tent with a scowl. The less than a centimeter of space between them felt like a chasm.

Laurens realized he didn’t know if Alexander would be leaving that week to join Washington- or even that next day.

Just the thought made his insides turn cold, sapping any warmth left from their brief joining.

“I’m sorry.”

Alexander still didn’t look at him, jaw set stubbornly. 

His temper tried to rise again, but seemingly sated by earlier, remained at a low smolder. Nothing he wasn’t used to keeping a lid on. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Nothing. No response. 

“Christ- what else do you want me to say, Alex?” Laurens finally snapped, leaning up on an elbow to look down at the man. “I’m sorry I didn’t jump at the fact you’d be leaving-” That finally got a reaction out of the man, the hard eyes glinting before the head turned to look away, and it clicked. “Is that it? You thought I’d be happy?”

 _“Yeah,_ actually, I did,” Alexander remarked bitterly.

“Well guess what? I’m not.”

“No fucking shit, I figured that out already.”

The tension boiled hot between them again briefly, but faded, and Laurens just felt… tired. Tired and cold and empty. “We were supposed to fight together.”

Alexander finally glanced at him, irritation driving him out of silence. “You think I don’t want that?” He questioned, voice aggravated. “If I had gone on praising you any longer for a recommendation, I’m sure Washington would have figured the nature of our friendship.”

That shut him up. Laurens _did_ remember that Alexander mentioned recommending him and Lafayette in passing- but he had been too caught up in his temper to really understand. “But you can’t know for sure he’ll ask me as well,” Laurens argued.

“He will.”

The answer was clipped. Alex didn’t know for sure. 

“Okay,” Laurens finally sighed, laying down fully on the cot again as he processed the information over. “Okay. Well that’s that, then.”

Alexander looked over at him again, still scowling, but a hint of curiosity in the eyes at the words. “What is?”

“So we’ll be aides. At least until Washington gives one of us a command.”

“I thought you wanted to fight, not be ‘someone’s paper-bitch’?” Alex remarked, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. 

“What I want is to be at your side,” Alexander quieted at that, and Laurens watched him for a long minute. When he moved to drape an arm over the man, closing that distance between them, he didn’t protest. “You and I, do or die, right?”

Alexander nodded, reluctantly letting Laurens pull him closer, before finally sighing. “That’s right.”

They lay there in quiet for most of the night, neither of them sleeping. Even with the fight earlier still fresh and hurting, they seemed to realize the coming absence of each other would hurt far worse, and that they now had limited time to soak in each other’s presence. Laurens didn’t return to his tent until hours later- careful not to wake Lafayette as he laid down in his own bedroll, and remained awake with his thoughts for the rest of the night.

* * *

Alex hadn’t been gone longer than a week before Laurens received a letter- a summons from Washington. 

“Your excellency, you wanted to see me?”

Laurens had taken off his hat the moment he had stepped into the tent- certainly a nicer one than had been afforded to their own company. Like Alexander’s tent, there was only one place to sleep, and it was large enough to even accommodate the writing desk that the General now glanced up from. “Lieutenant Laurens, come in.”

He stepped further into the tent, waiting while the general finished the sentence of whatever letter he was writing. For a moment he could almost feel like he was back in Charleston- still just a kid, called to his fathers office, fighting the urge to fidget lest he be reprimanded. He had often wondered if his father did it on purpose in some attempt to impress the importance of patience.

“Captain Hamilton has spoken highly of you,” The general finally broke the quiet, placing the quill in the inkwell and leaning back in the chair to look over Laurens. “You weren’t with him when he stole cannons from the Battery.”

It was a statement, not a question. “No, sir,” Laurens said, feeling a frown tug at his lips at the memories. “I was in Charleston at the time. The Provincial Congress in New York needed someone to speak in their stead and organize discussions of supplies and soldiers, and I had contacts in South Carolina.”

“Through your father Henry Laurens, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Though the relations I’ve curated with them have been my own,” Laurens said stiffly.

The corner of the man's lips twitched in something that may have resembled amusement at the answer he received. “I never said they weren’t,” he replied. “I ask because I’m surprised to find you’ve joined the fight instead. A position like that would have merited much more security and comfort than I’m sure you’ve found in battle.”

When Laurens didn’t respond, the general stood- and there weren’t many people that could make Laurens feel small, but rumors of Washington's stature clearly hadn’t been embellished. “Hamilton’s also told me of your knowledge of French?”

“Yes, sir.”

Washington had come around the side of the desk, hands clasped behind his back and watching Laurens. He knew better than to speak, waiting until the General had considered whatever he saw. “Our entire army is in need of men and supplies- but what I need most right now are aides to assist in organizing and directing them,” Washington finally explained. “Congress has only authorized pay for four staff, and my only vacancy I’ve had Hamilton fill.”

Ah. So there it was. “So you’re looking for volunteers who can work without missing their pay.”

The General gave him a once over. “I’m looking for men who can afford to fight for our cause on their principles alone.”

Laurens looked up- and, dare he say it, there almost seemed to be a measure of respect in the Generals eyes. “You don’t know me, or my principles.”

“No,” Washington admitted, though there was a wry note to it. “But the way Hamilton went on about you and Lafayette, you would think he was trying to convince me to make the pair of you the face of our revolution. Especially yourself.”

He swallowed. Knowing that Alexander had been praising him, had gone to him first to share the news of his promotion, didn’t do anything to help the vicious way his insides twisted as he remembered his reaction. 

The general sighed, the noise breaking him out of his own guilty thoughts and reminding him he was still in a conversation. “I would only ask that you consider it-”

“I accept.”

The man paused, eyebrows raising just slightly at the sudden, insistent agreement. There was a beat of silence, but the General seemed to know better than to question it. “Excellent. We leave here in three days time, I will expect you to have joined us before then,” Washington ordered, moving back around his desk to sit once more. “As you work closely with the Marquis, and will likely see him on your return, please have him report to me as well so I can discuss a similar arrangement.”

Laurens nodded, turning back at the dismissal and exiting the tent. Only once he was outside did he feel able to compose himself again, letting the cold January air bring him to his senses and the nature of what he had just agreed to. 

But it was his best shot at remaining at his Alexander’s side- and he’d be damned if he was going to throw that away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter probably had the most 'historical accuracy' of any so far- and by that, I mean it's 100% existing in the general vicinity of real history. 
> 
> Alexander Hamilton DID turn down two different offers that he was made to be an aide-de-camp to different generals, hedging his bet on becoming artillery captain, despite the fact that those positions were normally given to folk with... well, connections. It paid off for him in the end though, and I believe he was only 21 when given his command. According to one source I read, he actually used the last of his scholarship money to commission a uniform from Hercules Mulligan, which I find really touched me in a way that I didn't expect? 
> 
> When firing on the two British ships travelling up the Hudson, the only casualties were from a cannon that misfired. I've read conflicting reports from as few as two men dying, to as many as six. Some sources say that it was due to poor training, others say it was a cannon misfire and that it was old equipment to begin with. Hamilton was also reported to have been 'especially vicious' that day, as he HAD actually lost the funds for his command, possibly while drunk and celebrating the declaration read by George Washington. He had been writing to the Provincial Congress of New York, arguing that his men did just as much work as soldiers of the continental army, and deserved fair pay. 
> 
> The stories of whether or not Burr helped save Hamilton's men is debatable? Some treat it as fact, others not so much. One of the stories I read talked of how they tried to bring along three of their cannons and, when the horses responsible for pulling them died, Hamilton himself helped pull them along at great risk to himself (honestly it was amazing he wasn't captured). Hercules Mulligan DID manage to find Alexander Hamilton at some point before the battle at Raritan. Hamilton's defense and fire laid down at the Raritan allowed George Washingtons men to disassemble the bridge the British would have used to cross- and Washington was apparently surprised when he was given a description of the young captain that had taken command so efficiently, especially since he had heard Hamilton's name before by this time. 
> 
> It's hard to find any concrete evidence, but there's one letter I've read implying that Hamilton was very sick right before the crossing of the Deleware. He still went of course, crossing a day later- and him and his artillery company with their remaining two cannons cut off British forces in Princeton as well. It wasn't long afterwards that George Washington invited Alexander Hamilton to become an aide, though in this timeline, I bumped it up to almost immediately following the battle at Princeton.
> 
> WHEW. A fun but long chapter to write. Updates may slow down to once every two weeks, as my second semester of Anatomy and Physiology has started, and this teacher seems to be a bit more strict :) But there is still much more planned, and much more coming. 
> 
> Kudo's, and especially comments, are super loved and appreciated. <3 Feel free to come shitpost with me on Tumblr as well, my username there is the same as here; Herewithstupid


	6. A Winter's Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER: Though it's sort of tagged- this is a time to place a reminder that this is meant to be a somewhat era-compliant piece, which means abhorrent views and acts of racism existed. I don't wish to erase the fact that the musicals actors were people of color, but that means finding at least semi-plausible backgrounds/explanations for /why/ they are in their different places in society. But please keep in mind that while I try to address things tactfully... it doesn't make it any less disgusting to read.

“And you are certain you packed it?”

“Yes, Hamilton, I promise it got packed,” Laurens sighed, a hand propping his head up by his temple, as he continued to copy the orders of the paper in front of him. “Have you checked the trunk with our ink and parchment supplies?”

“Of course I have, Laurens,” The man said in annoyance, and behind him he could hear the rustling as Hamilton dug through the large messenger bag. “Did you think I would not check there first?”

“Perhaps you left it in your portable desk?”

“I would know if it was with my own things- you were the one who was packing up our tent last.”

“By god, I thought his Excellency hired two more aides, not a married couple to bicker all day,” Tilghman said loudly from across the wooden table, the comment quick to remind Laurens that they were not alone in the cramped room. Or even the building for that matter- Laurens could hear noise downstairs of men coming and going through Arnold’s tavern, the latest sequestered headquarters for Washington and his aides to work out of.

Laurens huffed, hoping it came across more as indignation than embarrassment at the words, ignoring Lafayette’s knowing laughter to his right. “We’re hardly bickering.”

Tilghman and Harrison exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, and Laurens chose to ignore that too. 

“I am telling you, Laurens, it is not here,” Hamilton insisted, seeming deaf to the joking of their fellow aides as he seemed to upend the contents of the bag. “Lieutenant Mannings is expecting a reply quickly- and it’s bad enough I have had to wait until we settled in to pen him a response-”

“You _already_ respond faster than any man in this room,” Laurens moved his fingers from his temples to pinch at the bridge of his nose, sighing. The man was clearly wound up from _something,_ and unable to relieve it the way Laurens normally would have with the company they had now, he knew the next best thing was just letting Hamilton work out the energy in his frenzy rather than wasting breath convincing him otherwise. “Our trunks are in our room, as yours would be the only other place I would have stored them. Your trunk is-”

“I know which one is mine, Laurens,” Hamilton waved off, immediately hurrying out of the war room, as though a small fire nipped at his heels.

“I feel like that is the third possession of his that he’s lost since your joining last week?” Harrison commented, sounding half joking, and half concerned as he glanced at Lafayette.

Lafayette merely waved off the questioning tone as he stood, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “Ah, oui, our dear Hamilton is genius, but with his faults,” The man said fondly, grabbing his coat from where it had been draped over the back of his chair. “I will be back- stretch my legs, as they say.”

Harrison gave a hum of affirmation, having already turned his attention to sorting through some papers as Lafayette glided past them and out of the room. “What a triad the three of you are,” Tilghman chuckled, returning to his own scribing even as he continued the conversation. Between him, Reed and Harrison, the slightly portly aide had been the most welcoming. “Where on Earth did our Excellency find you all at once?”

“We were part of the New York Artillery company,” Laurens explained.

“And yet none of you are from New York, are you?” Laurens glanced up, surprised at how easily the man had guessed, which only made Tilghman laugh. “The Marquis is obvious- but you slip into your southern drawl when you’re tired. Georgia, perhaps?”

He found a small, amused smile threatening to curve the corner of his mouth. “Close. Charleston, South Carolina, actually.”

The man only clucked his tongue at that. “Should have guessed- I knew you weren’t from Virginia. Not quite the same lilt as our Commander in Chief and old Harrison here,” Tilghman gave a friendly bump of the elbow to the military Secretary, who only glanced up briefly in exasperated amusement before looking back to his work. “And what about your Hamilton?”

Laurens tried to ignore the clench in his gut at Hamilton being called _his._ Tilghman couldn’t possibly mean how it sounded, and he just hummed a noise of feigned ignorance. “Hmm? Not sure what you mean.”

“Well, he’s not from New York. You can just barely hear his accent, but it _is_ there,” Tilghman explained with a slight wave of his quill before returning to writing. “Not enough I can figure out its origin, though. You would think with how much he speaks, there would be plenty of opportunities to place it!”

“Don’t really know, I never asked,” Laurens lied curtly, looking away from Tilghman pointedly. He knew better than to think that Hamilton wanted his history shared in any way. Especially by someone other than himself.

Seeming to sense he was being dodged (Laurens had never been a good liar), Tilghman made a friendly, yet doubtful noise. “Really? With how long you three have known each other?”

“Just never came up,” Laurens placed his quill aside as he stood, eager to find some excuse to be away from both the chore of copying orders over and over, and the questioning. “Speaking of Hamilton though, I should go and check to make sure he has not torn apart our quarters searching for that missing letter.”

He left before Tilghman or Harrison could protest, though there wouldn’t have really been a need to. It wasn’t like they were expected to remain shackled to their desks- though often it seemed like his Alexander _was,_ with how much of a chore it could be to get him to retire for the night.

The upper landing of the tavern they shared was small- packed in tight alongside the family that owned the business, who had been kind enough to offer a warm place to stay to Washington and his aides. Though this winter was warmer than ones he had dealt with in the past, it was still late January, and the small mercy of a bed under proper shelter wasn’t one he took for granted anymore. Their meager tents and bedrolls of just this past December had seen to that.

“Alexander?” He gave a polite rapping on the door- a force of habit, more than courtesy. With the three beds shoved into the small room, there was no real expectation of privacy. 

There was no answer from inside. 

Perhaps Alexander had already searched his trunk, and left to check somewhere else?

He opened the door regardless, not eager to return back to his work without a small break, only to see the man in question sitting on one of the beds. Alexander didn’t look up when John entered, shoulders hunched, brow drawn tight as his eyes flickered over the letter in his hand.

When Laurens eyes landed on the trunk that was open, his blood went cold at the sight of his own clothes tossed about. _His_ trunk.

“Alex?”

Finally the man looked up, eyes landing on Laurens as though seeing him for the first time. “Jac- Laurens, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Alexander caught himself, switching names as he looked back down at the letter that he held. There was a ring, and another two letters open next to him, from a stack that had been tied with a neat ribbon and formerly abandoned at the bottom of the trunk. Eager to be forgotten about. “Didn’t realize I opened your trunk instead of mine- thought I found the Lieutenant's letters.”

Lieutenant _Manning’s._ Laurens thought he may be sick, stomach twisting as he stepped forward. “Alex-”

“I’m surprised she didn’t take your family name, Laurens. I guess there are women queer in thought like that though, aren’t there?” Alexander interrupted him, pulling his lips back in a smile as he laughed. “But I suppose you are queer yourself in some ways, so perhaps it is a good fit.”

There was a small bite, a double meaning to those words that Laurens knew wasn’t accidental. “Alex, please, I can explain,” Laurens fumbled over the words, reaching out to put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder.

The man stood, easily dodging the hand and stepping past, letter still in his hand. “You don’t have to explain anything, Laurens, I’m happy for you,” Alexander said, the cheer of his voice sounding as though a dagger was pressed persuading to his back. “A wife, a _daughter._ A family to call your own- something every man should want, right?”

Should, yes. Yet Laurens couldn’t think of anything he wanted less right then. Everything he desired to call his own was pacing now in the small room like a trapped animal. “They don’t mean anyth-”

Alexander was already talking over him, voice raising slightly, as though to drown out Laurens objections. “It’s something I’ve even considered at times. Hell! Perhaps it’s you I should have been asking for help from, hmm?” The man looked back towards him as he came to a stop, the eyes passing over Laurens without really focusing on him. “You are my closest friend, after all.”

Laurens felt the words like a punch. Alexander _was_ his closest friend- but he was so much more than that. He was everything. “Alex…”

“So it’s agreed?” Another flash of teeth, a charming smile, eyes that still looked past Laurens, voice teasing. “You know my desires well, Laurens. It’ll be no easy task.”

Alexander turned away, waving a hand absently as he strode purposefully to the nearby window. “I’m thinking a woman that’s young, beautiful, with some brains and good stock, sweet and tender. Don’t waste worry on her politics, as I’m sure I am persuasive and convincing enough to bring her to common sense,” A laugh escaped at that, hand coming to rest on the sill. “And if she should have some fortune, all the better. We know I will not likely come into the kinds of money that may be needed to keep her content.”

Even the implication that Alex would consider someone else, would entertain the company of some _woman_ past a night of fancy, was enough to begin stoking that temper that always smoldered low inside him. 

“I know I ask for a lot- so you might even have to take out an ad for me in the paper,” Alexander jest, head turning so that his profile was caught in the light that filtered in. The knuckles were almost white where they gripped the sill despite the light, playful tone of his words. “Make sure you do me justice as a lover when described. You’ll have to excite them with tales of my make and quality, and don’t forget to discuss _size_ -”

Then it clicked. Laurens knew that Alexander was still talking. But, the words felt more distant now. Muffled, as though his head was underwater, cold comprehension seeping slowly into his chest and spreading. Encroaching on that temperamental flame that had flared to life just a minute earlier.

The comments burned.

But there was a _reason_ those comments burned… wasn’t there?

Because the difference between them was simple. Alexander _could_ entertain the company of a woman. Had done so (many times in fact) between his visits to Laurens bed, even though they never discussed it. He remembered wondering why Alexander always returned to him. Why Alexander came back time and time again when he could find a woman's touch comforting- comforting in a way that Laurens had spent so many nights _praying_ to understand. 

Now it just seemed so obvious. Guilt curdled low inside him.

“-ohn?”

His eyes finally seemed to focus, Alexander’s guarded expression coming into focus. He wasn’t sure when the man had stopped talking, but it was clear that he was waiting for Laurens to respond. 

“Perhaps you are right.”

Whatever answer Alexander had been expecting, that _clearly_ wasn’t it. The death grip on the windowsill, the antsy pacing, the pulled back shoulders and raised chin- a posture he had seen dozens of times before when they had argued and bickered. Between Laurens volatile disposition (a source of endless lectures from his father), and Alexander’s need to _always_ be right, their inevitable clashes had become a dance as familiar as their embrace. 

And in that moment, eyes widening, Alex looked as though he had reached out in a waltz to find nothing but empty air. 

“Excuse me?”

“Perhaps you are right,” Laurens repeated, finding the words no easier the second time. His limbs felt heavy and cold, and he sank down on the bed, finally looking away and down at the ground. “About a wife. Perhaps one would be good for you.”

There was a step towards him. “You don’t mean that,” Alexander said, voice hesitating despite the sureness of the words. “I know my wit misses its mark sometimes, John, but…”

He could probably count on one hand the number of times that Alexander had ever been at a loss for words. When Laurens still said nothing, there was the sound of footsteps again, before Alexander was kneeling in front of him. Forcing Laurens to look at him, voice almost pleading, “Jack, _come on,_ you know how I run my mouth! I don’t even know what I was intending for. I don’t want a wife. I have enough problems without adding all the complications a missus would inevitably bring me.”

Laurens shook his head, not able to meet Alexander’s eyes directly. He knew how helpless he was when he did. “I’m well aware of your problems,” He choked out. “Don’t you think I realize I am the source of most of them?”

Alexander was shaking his head, already looking ready to fight, to disagree. “You’re not-”

“God dammit it, Alex, we could be _hanged_ if we are caught by the wrong person,” Laurens interrupted, struggling to keep his voice low, frustrated- Alexander _never_ understood. “I risk your life when you are with me- and for what? My own perversions?” The word was spat out, foul on his tongue, before forcing himself to press on. “You are right; a wife, a family, children, that’s something every man should want- but I can _never_ give that to you!”

“Don’t presume to speak for me, Jack, it is _you_ that I want.” Laurens jaw tightened, making a move to stand, only for Alexander to grab him and push him back to a sitting position forcefully, “ _No._ You’re going to sit there and listen to me.” The man spluttered, face growing red. “You don’t get to claim my heart as your own then just- just try to bid _adieu_ without taking some fucking responsibility!”

“What do you want me to say, Alex?” Laurens bit out, voice harsh and loathing. “I _am_ trying to take responsibility- _fuck,_ do you think I would wish to see you wed for _my_ happiness?”

The tension in the silence that followed was so thick, so heavy between them, that it could have been cut with a knife. After a minute, there was movement, and a hand came to rest overtop his shaking fist. “Do you not think you bring me happiness?” When silence was the only answer Alexander received, the man’s voice softened. “Jack… Just look at me, please.”

He didn’t want to. But he had never been able to say no to that pleading undertone, and reluctantly, his gaze moved up to meet Alexander’s.

There was still pain there, but with it, a sort of exasperated resignation. “How can you still doubt me? How many more ways must I tell you?” Alexander beseeched, seeming to genuinely want an answer that Laurens could not hope to provide. “My dear Jack, if it were in my power by actions, rather than words, to convinceyou that I love you, I would act on them at every hour of the day. Every minute if I must. And you must know I mean that- you _know_ how hard I try to keep myself independent of the whims of others. But the value you hold to me…”

Laurens couldn’t look away if he wanted to, and it felt like the strength was sapped from him, heart clenching. How did Alexander do this to him? Every time? “I know.”

Laurens' fists had unclenched, and he found the man's hand joining his own. “It’s your fault, you know,” Alexander accused, though there was no true heat to the words. “You have stolen my affections.”

His gut twisted. The words that followed were honest and hoarse. “I’m sorry, Alexander.”

“You should not have taken advantage of my sensibilities as you did.”

“I should not have,” He agreed solemnly.

“And yet you did. Without my consent, may I add.”

“And I would do it again,” The words came without hesitation, and just as honestly. Because the truth of the matter was that Laurens was weak. And selfish. 

His eyes flickered away towards the door, mindful of the fact that there was no true privacy here, before looking back to Alexander. Laurens found himself reaching up with his free hand to cup the side of the man's face, running a thumb along the curve of the cheekbone. “There are millions of regrets I have, Alexander,” He admitted. “But you could never be one of them.” _No matter how much better off you may be,_ his mind supplemented.

Alexander let out a soft breath at that, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “And there you go. At it again, John Laurens. Have you no shame?”

Something almost resembling a laugh was shared between them, careful and fragile, like they were both afraid of further fracturing the familiar banter that represented peace. When they glanced back towards where the letters and ring still laid atop the bedspread next to him, however, Laurens gave the hand within his own a squeeze. “You once asked if I am a man of honor, Alex,” He sighed, drawing the man's attention back to him. “I have made choices I regret… If I could take back that night, I would. But even now, I would not have done her the dishonor of leaving her pregnant and unwed.”

There was a quiet after that, Alexander seeming to process the words with tight lips. Finally the man gave a reluctant huff of air. “You should've told me. But, I suppose we are indulgent to those that we love,” Alexander relented, looking back to him. There was new caution there. Still pain. But there was also understanding. “So I’ll pardon you this time, Jack... Don’t make me regret the partiality I give to you.”

He stole the briefest of kisses, all that could be afforded in their quarters, before murmuring. “I will strive to do my best by you.”

  
  


* * *

The first thing that Laurens had done when they had arrived had been to locate one of the servants ( _slaves,_ his mind corrected) that ferried drinks through the open halls. 

He knew better than to drink too fast. Because getting drunk isn’t the purpose, not really. The stem of the glass between his fingers is only there to give _something_ for his hands to do as he nods through burdensome conversation, an excuse not to speak when he brings the lip of the glass up and takes small sips while glancing about the room.

After their months in freezing tents, fingers nearly frost bitten, men dying around them, the smell of artillery smoke and sweat almost irreversibly entrenched in their clothing, the wide and open home around them felt surreal. It was clean, and familiar, as though Laurens had woken from a fever dream and was merely attending one of the many social gatherings his father would bring him to.

There were hints though, scattered throughout the room, that helped ground Laurens. The sight of Tilghman talking to a young woman in blue, a charming smile on his face while they laughed about something he couldn’t hear. Reed, scowling slightly with his hands clasped stiffly behind him while exchanging hushed mutterings with Harrison, off to the side as though trying to keep the business they talked about from interfering with the jovial atmosphere. Further up on a second landing he could see the imposing figure of Washington beside General Schyuler. Less grim than Harrison and Reed, perhaps, but no less serious. 

“-and how fares your father, John?” 

Though he hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation, he glanced back at the man beside him, taking a sip of the wine to buy himself a moment. “As well as one can expect, Mr. Lansing,” He said with a smile. “As grateful as the rest of us, I’m sure, that Winter will be over soon.”

“Plantations and trade are not as profitable when snowed in, are they? I can imagine why he would be eager for spring,” John Lansing remarked wryly, laughter echoed in their small group. “Especially with all this demand for new uniforms for Washington’s army. I’m sure his indigo has tailors clamoring at his door night and day.”

“Some try- but my dear father was wise, and hired others to handle that day to day drudgery _for_ him,” Laurens laughed politely. “He has more important matters at hand without being hassled for trade at every moment as well.”

There was a hum from a Mr. Yates next to him- Robert, Laurens believed his name was. “So I’ve heard. I believe he’s been chosen to represent South Carolina in congress, hasn’t he?”

Laurens hummed his affirmation. Acknowledging, proper, but bordering apathetic, as though it was not news worth noting. “Yes, sir. I received letter from him a week ago mentioning it. He’ll be leaving to join them in Pennsylvania sometime this March; wants to make sure home affairs are in order first, however.”

Lansing tutted his tongue. “That is fair. It is a tall order to expect a man to manage both his business and his family without a wife to assist. It seems he has managed well enough, but it must have taken some time to adjust to.”

He ignored the dry feeling in his throat at the words. “My siblings and I are lucky to have him as a father,” Laurens agreed, the affirmation echoing hollow in his chest. Now, here, was not the time to dwell on his mothers death. Of how things could have been different. He knew his role. A representative both for Washington and for Henry Laurens. Be polite, speak tactfully, learn what you could, and make allies they could call on when needed. Be the model son and aide he was expected to be. “It was difficult. But we had our faith and our family, which is all that matters in the end.”

“Indeed,” Lansing said, though the words didn’t seem to be enough to placate his curiosity, tone questioning. “I’m sure it was difficult for you in particular, however. Most of your siblings were too young to really understand what had happened, weren't they?”

Laurens bit his tongue, trapping biting words behind his teeth before they could escape. What was there for his siblings to ‘understand’? Patsy’s tears hadn’t been from ignorance or confusion. Harry’s fits of tantrums had never once included demanding their mother return. And Jemmy… the four year old may not have been able to wax philosophical musings or debate on the ideas of an afterlife, but he had understood enough that Laurens had had to hold him, night after night, until he had cried himself to sleep. 

And to act as though it had only been difficult because of his responsibility to his siblings. Like _he_ hadn’t lost her as well. He opened his mouth, fully intending on asking Mr. Lansing at exactly _what_ age was one supposed to find their mothers death _fucking_ easy-

“Colonel Laurens, would you have a minute?”

For the second time, his saving grace came in the unexpected form of Aaron Burr. 

“Of course,” He agreed stiffly, giving a cordial nod to the men he had been talking to before following Burr. They fell into step next to each other, silence heavy between them as Laurens fought to wrangle his temper back under control. Finally he asked, “What did you need, Burr?”

“Nothing,” Aaron said simply, not looking over at Laurens as they walked.

“And you asked to speak to me because..?”

“I asked if you had a minute,” Aaron corrected, glancing at Laurens with something akin to understanding. “Especially if it spared you from conversation with men who feel it necessary to talk of matters that don’t concern them.” 

In that moment, he is reminded that he is not the only one to have lost a parent. He glanced again at Burr as they exit the building and joined the back porch, looking out over the well-lit garden. Even here people mingled and chat, socializing and exchanging pleasantries to pass time as they waited for the music inside to begin. It was hardly a ball, after all, if there was no dancing. “Thank you.”

Burr tilted his head in the barest of acknowledgements. The man was not his friend. But, much like before the war, he also was not an enemy. 

A sudden movement caught Laurens eye, and he followed it, finding his answer as to where Lafayette had disappeared. The Marquis wasn’t alone either- seeming to have been brought to a stop by Alexander, the man easily sidestepping and redirecting their friend. The playful smirk on his face was enough to bring a genuine smile to his own-

At least, until he saw the reason Alexander had intercepted Lafayette.

The French man didn’t seem surprised, casting Alexander an almost exasperated, bemused glance before wandering off in search of new pursuits. Neither Alexander nor Angelica Schyuler seemed to notice, greetings passing between them that were heavy and tension filled.

Laurens hand came to rest tightly on the balcony.

He recognized that gaze. The way the eyes focused on the woman, intense, hungry, mouth faintly curling in an imitation of a teasing smile. Brash and bold, with an intensity that felt impossible to look at directly, like gazing into the sun. 

He didn’t have to look away though- because it wasn’t directed at him.

“You strike me as a woman who’s never been satisfied.”

Laurens knew the chilled, winter air couldn’t be blamed for the heated way his skin warmed, flushing hot as betrayal washed over him. 

The woman he knew to be Angelica raised an eyebrow, politely denying knowledge, yet answering the question in tone alone. It didn’t seem to dissuade Hamilton in the least. There was a slight raising of the chin, the man looking pleased at the banter that was returned. “You’re like me,” Hamilton repeated, sly. “I’ve never been satisfied.”

“Is that right?”

* * *

“-ack, fuck, _Jackie,_ please!”

Laurens bit down, hard, digging teeth into the juncture of shoulder and neck muscle as he continued to pound into Alexander. The man was all but falling apart beneath him, back arched and chest pinned to the mattress below by the sheer weight of Laurens bearing down on him. 

There was a higher pitched, keening noise, struggles growing only more intense as Alexander grew closer. He knew what the man sounded like when he was close to spending, could hear the desperation even in the hoarse and exhausted voice, begging for relief. 

He intentionally slowed, barely holding himself back and placating himself by rutting into that maddening heat, still slick with release from earlier. Almost immediately there was a frustrated whine as Alexander tried to rock back against him, and Laurens grabbed at the hips to still him. “Jack, _come on!”_

“I’m not done with you,” Laurens let go of the flesh between his teeth to growl against the shoulder, leaving an angry red mark in his wake, already threatening to bruise purple.

He knew Alexander well enough at this point to know what was coming, and spot the movement out of the corner of his eye, grabbing the wrist before the hand could reach its final destination. There was an aggravated noise as Alexander was denied the ability to even tend to himself for relief, wrist pinned unflinching to the mattress. “You’ve had me two times already tonight,” Alexander breathed incredulously, once more trying to move in search of that friction that was denied to him, head twisting to the side. Laurens could feel overworked muscles trembling beneath him, exhausted from the orgasms that he was all but forcing out of the man by this point. “Fuck, Jack- what more do you want from me?”

Laurens leaned back slightly. Just enough that he could hungrily take in the marks that painted the man’s upper back and shoulders, the places of the neck that could be hidden by a cravat, a higher place he knew that _wouldn’t_ be easily concealed. Right near the back of the neck, in a place that would show if Alexander turned his head just the right way.

And yet, even with the dozens of imprints of teeth, practically _branded_ into Alexander’s skin, there was still that one. That _one_ that just made his blood boil hot, made the hair on the back of his neck rise and set his teeth on edge. It was far gentler than any that Laurens had left. Barely visible, almost out of view and ever so slightly peeking over the curve of the shoulder- a lingering trace of the night before. A sight that brought to the surface visuals of delicate hands grabbing at tanned skin, high pitched moans and soft curves pressing up against his Alexander-

There was a surprised yelp as Laurens snapped sharply inside again, unable to help himself as his grip curled punishingly tight, leaning back down. _“Everything,”_ his voice was thick and graveled as he returned to rocking his hips. “I want _everything_ from you, Alex- I want _you.”_

A well angled thrust drew an overstimulated sob from somewhere deep in the man’s chest, and another had pleas, frantic and begging, falling from his lips. “You have me- you fucking have me, I’m yours, I promise! Just please stop teasing me, fuck, I need to come-”

_You weren’t mine last night._

Laurens wasn’t sure how well his arousal masked the rage in the snarl that escaped him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter. If Alexander had ever made the connection, had ever _noticed_ that Laurens was particularly insatiable and rough on nights he returned with trophies of his other conquests, he had never acknowledged it aloud. 

Such was their unspoken agreement. 

Laurens never asked where they came from. Never asked Alexander to stop. Never tried to control the man outside of this sacred place of the bed that they shared.

And in turn, the man let him have... this. Let Laurens lie to himself. Let him pretend that a few orgasms, a few blissed out nights, wrung out and spent, would one day satisfy Alexander enough to keep him in that bed with him.

* * *

“I’ve never been satisfied.”

It is only by some small miracle that the glass Laurens held did not shatter in his grip. 

Laurens turned away from where he had been watching them over the balcony, leaning his back against it as he struggled to rein in the overwhelming possessive surge of emotions. Now wasn’t the time. Not with the way that Burr was suddenly studying him, those dark eyes too observant and guarded, seemingly knowing that something between Alexander and this woman was the reason for Laurens shift in mood.

“So, lieutenant colonel, huh?” Laurens forced himself to say, latching onto the first change of subject he can think of. 

It was clear that Burr still had questions. The man seemed to sense it was better to wait than to ask, however, the polite smile returning instead. “Yes, it’s an honor,” the man agreed. “And you and Hamilton seated at Washington’s right hand?”

“Hamilton more-so than I,” Laurens admitted as he tried to tune out the conversation between Hamilton and the Schuyler sister. “He is as quick to show his work ethic as he is to talk.” 

“Yes, well, it seems that his Excellency has something of a soft spot for him,” Burr conceded, a faint twitch of the cheek the only sign that he continued to force the smile. It’s only after the words are said that Laurens is reminded that Burr had been Washington’s aide as well. At least, for a brief period of time. 

Before he could try to pry curiously into the history between the two men, a third presence joined them, appearing to his left as though he had been summoned at the mere mention of his name. Laurens had to force his feet to keep from moving to put space between them. “Mr. Burr, sir!” Alexander’s greeting was cheerful, the little rhyme always seeming to be a source of entertainment no matter what rank Burr held. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Burr gave an amicable chuckle. “Likewise. I think we all need some time to relax after these last few months.”

Alexander gave a hum of affirmation, a small smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Agreed- and what better time than now? Our generals are all preoccupied with their politics, no reason the rest of us shouldn’t find ways to entertain ourselves.”

Laurens and Burr both followed Alexander’s knowing glance towards the woman he had just been talking to, and Burr gave a similar smile. “Your entertainment is high-stakes if Angelica Schuyler is your pursuit,” He noted, sounding more amused than anything. “From what I have heard, she is quite discerning.”

“And I am quite charming,” Alexander replied back cheekily.

“I’m not saying you aren’t,” Burr acknowledged, though Laurens could tell on some level the man struggled not to roll his eyes. “But I also know you are not blind. Even with the Schuyler name behind her, and her family's wealth, she will be looking to marry someone of equal or greater status. A man whose reputation will not be adversely influenced by her…” There was a pause as Burr seemed to weigh and choose his words, before finishing tactfully, _“Birthright.”_

Laurens took another drink of his own glass, eyes flickering towards Angelica. It was no secret that the eldest was not quite like her sisters. There were no _confirmed_ rumors, no one dared to ask questions aloud of the nature of the woman's parentage. Of any of the Schuyler sisters for that matter. Even Laurens had only been able to draw connections between off-hand comments his father had made.

_“Mrs. Schuyler? With another toddler?” There was a pause, before being followed by a meaningful hum. “How interesting. I thought I had heard news of… well, I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it?”_

_“It is a trial, to be plagued with difficult pregnancies as they have. But I suppose however a couple chooses to overcome such obstacles is their own business.”_

_“Yes, Mr. Schyuler has always been quite…_ friendly _with his slaves, hasn’t he?”_

_“What a shame- his house servant was excellent in fulfilling her duties. I suppose that is one of the risks of pregnancy however. And did the child..? Ah. How grim.”_

_“Really is quite remarkable how well they have adapted. Especially the oldest, considering her… nature. But, I suppose like with dogs or horses, a sire with good blood is what matters most.”_

No, never direct questions. Only observations and hypothetical questions ruminated on aloud- enough to acknowledge that it was _known_ in polite company, while still toeing the line of imprudence. 

Lafayette was a perfect example. If one just had a powerful name behind them, and enough money to not be concerned of the opinions of others, people were suddenly much more willing to overlook ancestry. Suddenly much more apt to have excuses, to step back, shrug shoulders and make comments of there being ‘exceptions to every rule’. To act as though people like Angelica, Lafayette, even Burr- were nothing more than novelties that overcame the tragedy of their heritage.

Alexander had seemed to pause to consider Burr’s words, looking towards Angelica with new eyes. As though re-observing her after being reminded of their society's prejudices. 

“But,” Burr continued, bringing a close to the heavy silence that had followed his earlier statement. “I doubt she will have trouble finding herself a husband to wed. Social standing is of less concern to some. Especially in light of other perks that come with a Schuyler. After all,” the man added with a hint of wry, conspiratorial humor in his voice as he nudged Alexander with an elbow, “If one manages to marry a sister, they’re rich, son.”

And there was that gleam once more in Hamilton’s eyes, looking back at the man with a grin, tapping his nose and lowering his voice as though in plot. “Is it a question of _if_ Burr,” he purred, “Or _which_ one?”

Laurens felt something in his chest ease, politely smiling alongside the two men that grinned like mischievous schoolboys. That sinful beast of jealousy was still curled in his chest- but it was quieter now, sullen and resentful as he was reminded that for propriety's sake, Hamilton _would_ need to marry one day. Laurens himself had been the one to tell him so. To be a single man for too long of a time would only draw speculating eyes. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Mon ami, there you are!”

Laurens glanced back at the voice behind him. “Lafayette, I was wondering where you have been,” He greeted warmly, as the man approached, a woman in yellow at his side. _Another of the Schuylers,_ his mind supplied, though he struggled to remember this one. 

“As they say, time will fly when with such charming company,” Lafayette glanced at the woman at his side with a briefly teasing smile before continuing smoothly. “Miss Margarita Schuyler, this is mon ami, John Laurens. He is the one I told you travelled across sea with me.”

The woman gave a playful slap to Lafayette’s arm. “What did I tell you earlier?” She chided, before extending a hand to Laurens. “Margarita is such an awful name- just Peggy is fine with me.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss ‘Just Peggy’ Schuyler,” Laurens chuckled, taking the hand and giving the back of the knuckles the barest brush of his lips before letting go.

“Oh I see, so you _both_ are dreadful,” She sighed dramatically, but with no real ill will in the words as she pulled her hand back. 

“Why, that is why I spend all night at your side. Have you not realized, mon cheri?” Lafayette started, bringing a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “I may be dreadful, but your charm has beguiled everyone we have met, so that they are none the wiser.”

Peggy blushed slightly, ducking her head but looking pleased at the compliment. “Yet my charm is not enough to convince you to accompany me to the dance floor,” She said with the smallest of pouts.

Lafayette gave a nervous laugh at the words. “Ah, oui, not quite enough. I should not make you suffer my, ah… as they say, two right feet?” The eyes darted back up to Laurens though, as he added more enthusiastically. “My dear friend John Laurens, however, is quite skilled, and an honorable man. I am sure he would love to accompany you.”

The sister glanced back at Laurens, raising an amused eyebrow. “Well, Mister John Laurens? It seems the well being of my feet are being trusted to you.”

He didn’t bother fighting back the smile, knowing full well _why_ Lafayette was in no hurry to dance. Not after how mercilessly he had been teased for stepping on _the_ Marie Antoinette’s feet while he was still attending gala’s back home. “Of duties I could be assigned to tonight- I’d be inclined to say this is by far the most pleasant option,” he laughed, before extending a hand. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Peggy?”

A delicate hand took his, and Laurens led her out to the floor. 

Dancing was one of those necessary skills he had had to be educated on, with Henry Laurens as a father. Being brought to gala after gala, ball after ball, all filled with men and women of importance trying to pretend that they _weren’t_ aiming to impress each other. Games of feigned indifference and casual interactions, all carefully picked and pieced together to craft a persona of gentility. 

It hadn’t taken long for Laurens to realize if he was busy with dance, then he wasn’t expected to partake in such pretenses. 

Despite the cold of the late February air outside- inside, it was warm. Almost hot, even, with bodies winding and moving about each other in tandem. Even though he knew Peggy was the youngest of the sisters, it was clear that she knew what she was doing, following his guidance with graceful ease. 

Even when he was younger he had been complimented on his footwork, and it was rare that he would find himself lacking a partner to accompany him onto the floor, much to the resentments of other boys his age. He had been asked numerous times why so many women felt at ease with him, trusted him to put a hand on their waist and pull them close. 

Usually he had just laughed and shrugged. There was no straight answer that he could give.

His eyes didn’t leave Peggy as they twirled across the ballroom- but they didn’t need to for him to feel a new presence by his side. Even just the familiar scent (cleaned up from battle as they were, there was less of a smokey smell, more like a breath of beach air) was enough to almost make him falter and misstep. 

“Still with me, Mr. Laurens?” Peggy questioned playfully. 

“I am,” He reassured. “Forgive me, I’m sure I’m not the first man you have danced with to be distracted by your beauty.”

Peggy giggled at that, eyelashes batting. “You present yourself as quite the philanderer, Mr. Laurens! I thought the Marquis said you were a man of honor; have you no shame?”

It was amazing how much easier it was to flirt when none of it was truly meant. When it wasn’t accompanied by sweaty palms, or a racing heart, or the sensation of butterflies caught and going mad within one's stomach. “I have been asked that before,” he admitted, and he swore there was a barely masked laugh to his side. “But I promise you it is all in jest. I would not try to steal your affections without your consent.”

“I tease you not, Kitty, you know how I pride myself on my independence,” Alexander’s voice came from behind him, light and airy, engaged in his own conversation. “Your beauties can’t take advantage of my sensibilities that easily. How would I know to trust you with my heart?” 

Peggy gave a soft laugh, seemingly unaware of the real conversation taking place. “You may say that, but I have found that thieving men are hardly the types to announce such a fact.”

“Well, for what it is worth, my saying-so is all I can give you,” Laurens conceded, amused. “Only time will allow my words to be proven by action.”

There were so many people on the floor now that everyone couldn’t help but grow close to each other. Alexander felt no more than a centimeter away, warm and familiar, back to back with Laurens as they each respectively guided their women. Like two planets caught in each other's orbits. Never quite touching, yet pulling and guiding one another across the dance floor by an unseen force. 

“I suppose I must resign myself to your promise, Miss Livingston,” Alexander said fondly. “I don’t pardon easily- so be wary of making me regret this partiality I have given you.”

“And?” Peggy questioned, looking up at him with a gentle smile. “What should you wish to say with your actions?”

“That I am a man of honor,” Laurens murmured, knowing the ears the words were meant for were close enough to catch them. “And I shall strive to do my best by you.”

* * *

“I was wondering where you had gone off to, John.”

Laurens glanced over, smiling at the sight of Alexander walking down the hallway. The coat was slightly askew, cravat loosened, cheeks flushed warm with alcohol in what was likely a reflection of his own state of being. “Merely getting a breath of fresh air, and a break from the crowds,” Laurens admitted, looking back up at the painting on the wall. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, admiring the brushstrokes and blendings of colors, but he felt he may just be content to stand there all night. “How does your evening fare?”

Alexander gave a lazy roll of his shoulders, though it was with a pleased expression. “Not quite my usual crowd- but a man could get used to it,” He admitted. “Fine alcohol, and even finer women.”

“The infamous tomcat,” Laurens chuckled. “Trying to befriend every Schulyer from what I could see- I believe that was Elizabeth I saw you talking with earlier?”

The man perked up slightly at that, even as he looked up at the painting with Laurens. “Yes, actually. Her sister introduced us,” Alexander explained, smiling wider. “I’ll admit she’s a peculiar one. But, in an endearing sort of way, y’know?”

A bit of that contentment he had been feeling was smothered out, and Laurens could only nod in acknowledgement. 

There was a shuffle to the side as Alexander seemed to wait for his answer, before continuing on his own. “It grows late, and people are starting to prepare to leave,” The man remarked off-hand, casually, yet with a familiar note of hesitation buried under those words. “There’s time yet for one more dance, though… If you would indulge me?”

Laurens finally looked away from the painting, confused, and warily eying the hallway they were in. “Alexander, I don’t think that’s wise…”

The man was never one to take a no easily however, and there was a slight pouting of lips before Alexander was taking his arm and pulling Laurens after him. Perhaps he was drunker than he thought he was- as it took a few moments for his mind to catch up with his body. When it did though, Alexander was already closing the door behind them, sealing them off in the spacious office.

It was dark. The only light came from the moon that could be seen through the window, and the thick walls and doors sealed off any music from the ballroom. “I mean it, Jack,” Alexander said softly, turning to him and extending a hand in offering. “Dance _with_ me, not alongside me. Just once.”

Laurens found himself taking the hand without thinking about it. Instinctively. He pressed a lingering kiss to the knuckles there before reminding him quietly, “We’ll have no music.”

“I don’t think we should need it.”

“Then how shall we know the dance is over?”

Alexander seemed to consider this as Laurens drew him close, bringing a hand up to rest against his chest, Laurens own hand on his hip. “Perhaps it will never be over?”

Laurens snorted slightly at the answer- insatiable. As Alexander was in so many aspects of his life. “His Excellency will notice our absence sooner, rather than later.”

“Certainly he will, and I’m sure we will need to adjourn at some point,” Alexander agreed as Laurens began to slowly guide them through the room, ceding control and trusting his lead.

“Is there a difference?”

Alexander gave a small hum of confirmation, and Laurens almost stepped on the man’s foot when the head came to rest against his chest. He wondered if Alexander could hear how fast his heart pounded. “If our dance is over- then that’s it. That’s the end, the finish, with no guarantee of it happening again,” the man explained, eyes closed. “I don’t think my heart could bear that, Jack. At least if we merely adjourn, I know that this will be in my future again.” There was a pause, before Alexander added quieter. “That _you_ will be in my future again.”

Laurens swallowed at that too-full feeling in his throat. Tried his best to ignore the voice that reminded him that his place in Alexander’s future was only a threat- a liability. A potentially fatal tarnish that could ruin a great legacy. Unfortunately, Laurens was only a man, too weak to pull away from everything he so desperately wanted in life.

But… Hamilton was still the infamous ‘tomcat’. The well-known charmer, the flirt, the one whose heart belonged to no one- and likely never would. Hamilton would still need to marry one day. Just as Laurens would encourage him to do- because he was too much of a selfish coward to end it himself. 

Alexander though… no one would ever quite know his Alexander like he did.

“Then I’ll have this dance with you,” he agreed quietly, pulling Alexander even closer to himself, as though in an embrace. There was only the moon to bear witness to their sins. “For however long I may have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. The last chapter was by far the most somewhat historically accurate piece- which means naturally I must follow it with a chapter that is WAY OFF from both history AND the musical. Because even in the musical they state that it's "1780" (even though the Charles Lee dual took place in 1778???) when this ball is taking place. To keep it somewhat following a coherent line of thought, I've bumped it up to February of 1777, immediately following Hamilton, Laurens and Lafayette's fictional recruitment as aides. Hamilton wasn't promoted until I believe March'ish, while Lafayette and Laurens came into the battle later.
> 
> The "Cold in my Professions, warm in my friendships" wasn't written until 1779, but we know IRL that Alexander DID send that letter to Laurens before he had really begun to think about getting married. So, the big reveal is much earlier in this 'verse. I had a lot of fun trying to re-write in the lines, though this whole scene was probably the most difficult part because John Laurens is a fucking nightmare of contradictions. "Get married, Alex, you deserve a wife." but also "Don't mention your wife to me >:(" Fucking make up your mind you closeted ball of shame jfc. 
> 
> And, for what its worth, if it's not clear what Burr/Laurens/Henry Laurens was implying about Angelica, it'll be elaborated on more later <3 Unfortunately rape of slaves was common at the time. While I believe most children were kept as slaves- some were occasionally given freedom. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this chapter was enjoyed <3 Kudo's, and especially comments, are wonderful and always appreciated. I will likely keep to this roughly two-week update schedule going forward, as it's proven to be just the right amount of time for writing/editing while balancing homework, teaching, and social life.


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